Company: The Miserable Ones
by madamefaust
Summary: Part two of my modern re-telling, Company. The spring show has been announced! Can the kids remember their lines, save the theatre and still have time to study for finals? Freshman year continues...
1. Overture

AN: For anyone who is new to this story, this is the second part of my 56 chapter epic _Company_, wherein we have taken the cast of Phantom (from so many different versions I've lost count) and transported them to a Rhode Island arts program. And that's just where it started. This is not a typical re-telling, so keep that in mind and try to enjoy the ride.

To my long term readers who are returning: Welcome back! Hopefully it won't take me three years to finish this one ;-) **The Little Corinthian**: Oh god, the 25th Anniversary was SO GOOD, I loved EVERYONE, but most especially Ramin and Sierra. I like to think that was their prize for suffering through _Love Never Dies_. **Writ****er of the North**: I did. I'm...cautiously optimistic. I like to think that even if it's terrible, it will be terrible in a very entertaining way. **miss awesome 1213**: I'm glad you liked that! I won't say what's going to happen on the E/C front, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with shipping them. Ahmed's been doing that since chapter 6.

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><p>The announcement of <em>Les Mis<em> as the spring show really went a long way from separating the wheat from the chaff at Memorial Rep. The wheat were _panicking. _The chaff were just pleased as punch, already claiming roles that they wanted, casting the show in their minds. Erik and his parents were definite wheat. Whole wheat. Honey whole wheat.

Since Erik most emphatically had not known about this momentous decision, he immediately started calling everyone who he thought might have some idea. In a strange, twisted way, this worked to his benefit. Listening to other people's outrage over the phone was a nice way of soothing the ache in his gut and brought the lump in his throat down to a manageable level. Was there time to angst over Christine when a disaster of this magnitude was underway?

The short was yes, but at least there was distraction to his angst. As it turned out, no one had any idea what was going to happen. Sure, there had been rumors flying around, but no one took them seriously. Every theatre company which specialized in musical theatre was subjected to constant _Les Mis _fantasies. Every little theatre kid with a dream imagined performing in it someday and if Broadway wasn't an option, there was the regional theatre scene to consider. It was just a matter of waiting for the rights to go on sale – but that was just a fantasy. No one truly expected for that to happen. Older members of the company remembered hearing that they were going to do the show back in 1995, it was less a rumor and more a legend at this point. And yet, it was happening.

Maddy was _freaking out_, not necessarily in the most positive way. In between shrieking about how Tim clearly had dementia and did he realize how expensive the costumes _alone_ would be, _why_ had he waited until she was too old to play Fantine?

Charlie was less dramatic. At first, he thought Erik was kidding. Genuinely kidding, then Erik had Ahmed on the phone to confirm and he checked his email and saw the message Tim sent to everyone on the payroll, followed by a personal note to Charlie in particular asking if he wanted to come on as the lighting designer.

Charlie didn't rail at the stars, cursing his middle age or swear like a sailor. He told Erik to stay exactly where he was and that he would be at Memorial to pick him up in twenty minutes. Ahmed said it wasn't a big deal, he'd drive Erik, but his friend told him to head on home. He had that gleam in his eyes that bespoke a_ plan_ and after the week they'd had, Ahmed thought it was in his best interest to leave without asking too many questions.

"I'll be fine," Erik said as he shooed Ahmed out the door. "Besides, if I go now, I won't be able to hear the inevitable blow-out. Then I won't be able to tell you guys what's going on."

"Okay, that's a good point," Ahmed conceded, taking his keys out of his pocket. He dearly wanted to ask Erik what had him so upset earlier if _not_Tim's display of early onset Alzheimer's, but he figured that could wait until later. "You'll call me, like, the minute you get home?"

"Hell yeah," Erik said, nodding vigorously. And with that reassurance he disappeared back inside the lobby. His fellow classmates left earlier and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Raoul and Christine since that fateful moment in the parking lot. Erik had no idea whether or not they knew that their lives would be turned upside down from now until May, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell them. Maybe they'd both drop out of the program to have lots of sex and babies from now until the end of time. Eurgh. Spare him. He had better things to do right now than think about their domestic bliss: it was time to play James Bond.

Years ago he found an ingenious little way of listening in on conversations he had absolutely no business paying attention to. There was a little room, a closet really, off the manager's office. Usually Tim had it locked because there was nothing in there except green file cabinets containing cast lists and payroll slips from decades past. What Tim did NOT know was that there was a small panel that could be opened from the office which adjoined his allowing individuals in the know to pass from one room to another unnoticed.

Tim did not have an assistant manager, not since Don retired years ago. It fell to him to do the artistic management and business management, everyone thought he took too much on, but Tim was a control freak workaholic, so he ignored them. The office was usually locked, but Erik made himself a copy of the master key five years ago and it was simplicity itself to slip in. There was silence as he stood in the musty, shut-up old workspace; evidently Chester was long gone. Jiggling a letter opener in the seam where the panel connected to the wall caused it to pop open almost soundlessly and Erik was able to crawl into the dark, dusty interior of the cupboard.

One of the problems with finding cool hidey-holes as a child was that they did not grow with you and being 6'5 presented problems with comfortably sitting in a six foot by four foot space. His shoulder was jammed against a cold metal cabinet and his back was pressed uncomfortably against the wall, but the closet was _right_ behind Tim's desk and sound traveled well enough. Small sacrifices were necesssary to avail oneself to all company gossip.

A buzzing in his pocket alerted Erik to the fact that his dad was texting him – mental note, effective spies turned their phone buzzers _off_ before embarking on secret missions – but Charlie told him he was going to talk to Tim before they left. That suited Erik just fine, all he had to do was stay silent and wait.

He wasn't long to wait. Only scant seconds after his father texted him, the man himself was in his friend and boss's office, looking uncharacteristically irritated. It took a lot to rile Charles Theroux, but no one could do so more effectively than Maddy's theatre friends – though, since they were going on 20 years acquaintance now, he supposed they were all his theatre friends as well.

"You know I have to turn down a job in New York," Charlie demanded, the time for pleasantries long past as far as he was concerned.

**My dad is pissed.** Erik texted Ahmed quietly, thumbs working as silently as possible on the screen of his phone.

Tim, who had been leaning on the front of his desk, not sitting behind it, looked up at his friend and co-worker uncomfortably and then away, eyes resting on door Erik was crouched behind. Clearly he had no idea that any inappropriate snooping was taking place. "I was just asking if you'd design, I can find someone else. You don't have to do that," he said quietly.

Charlie drew a hand through his hair – still thick and black, but he was positive this show would be the thing to cause him to go gray. "Clearly I do, since you've lost your mind," he said, heaving a sigh and throwing his tall, broad frame into a chair. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you have _any_ idea how expensive this show's going to be to mount? Our grosses haven't been that good this year."

_**Can you record what theyre saying?**_ Ahmed texted back.

**The sound quality would suck, I'm making mental notes.**

Tim's voice was grim when he replied. "No. They haven't. And I'm blowing our budget on this show – this year and next year's budget. And that's if we break even."

The silence was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. "So _why_ are we doing this?"

Tim stood up, running a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and pacing around to the front of his desk where he looked Charlie dead on. "We've had a slow last few seasons."

"Everyone has, the economy's not good to the arts, but we're not doing that badly - "

"We are," Tim interrupted. "I...haven't let on how poorly we've been doing. I don't want to raise ticket prices again, it just keeps the crowds away, but they're not coming anyway. We need to do a show that can keep the lights on for a while longer. This is a hugely popular show and I know we can do it well. We have to. People will pay good money to see this, we can make it worth their while. If this is a hit, we can live off the proceeds for years."

Ever the pragmatist, Charlie couldn't help questioning, "And if it's not a hit?"

"Then we'll just close our doors a few seasons early," Tim said, his voice hardly wavering, though Erik felt his heart jump into his throat at the pronouncement. Surely, _surely_ things couldn't be that bad.

**We're going to close if this show doesn't do well.**

_**WHAT?/!11**_

**That's what Tim said. I'll tell you the rest later.**

"Timmy..." Charlie said weakly. "We put our lives in this place, it can't just...close."

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. "If things don't improve now, we will. You think I haven't been trying to keep us open? I haven't let anyone know just how bad it is because I don't want anyone walking. Maybe that's selfish of me, but we've got a great company. How much worse would things be if you all left?"

Charlie stood up, shaking his head. "We're not leaving – well, I can't speak for everyone, but me, Maddie, Chester, John, Bev – I can go on, but I won't. We _built _this place. We love it, we love you. You should've told us, this shouldn't have been something to deal with on your own."

"Maybe I should have told you all, given you more time to find other work if it comes to that - "

"Shut up," Charlie said, shoving Tim lightly. "Listen, I might not be around all the time, but I'm just as much a part of this place as you are. I already told you, I'm not talking the New York job. Let's just go forward, alright? We need this to be a success? Let's work on making this a success."

Erik had heard enough. Exhaling slowly, he crawled back into the abandoned office, looking around at the dusty furniture and computer that was years out of date. Everything started to make a lot more sense now. The reason Tim had not hired a business manager had nothing to do with the fact that he was a micromanager and more to do with the fact that they couldn't afford it. His comments about keeping the heat on this winter hadn't been in jest...God, he felt sick.

What he'd felt this afternoon over Raoul and Christine? It suddenly did not seem so important and he was struck with a complete sense of panic. Memorial could _not_ close. Months ago, when he was in the hospital, he vaguely remembered voicing his frustrations over his life to Ahmed. Back then he was frustrated by the idea that working at a repertory company in Rhode Island was as far advanced as he would get in the arts and the thought was depressing and made him go off his meds, just to see if he could make it without them. As stupid as that had been, he felt desperate at the time. It was nothing compared to how he felt now.

If Memorial closed, he would have nothing. As much as Charlotte and the blonde _Civil War _kid (who he later found out was called Todd after he tried to friend him on Facebook) complained that the panel at the voice class was too harsh, he knew their comments had been spot-on with regards to him. No one would hire him if they didn't know him. They'd take one look at him, too tall, too thin, too plain, never mind his health problems and they'd shoo him out before he could sing a bar. It was a nice idea that talent was all that mattered in theatre and that people would give you the chance if you were just good enough, but Erik knew deep in his heart that this simply wasn't true. If this place wasn't around for him to inherit, then he had no future to speak off. Not in theatre and that was what he loved. If you couldn't do what you loved, what was the point?

His phone was buzzing again. "Hey kiddo, I'm downstairs. Want to grab dinner before I take you back to your place?"

"Sure," Erik said. First, dinner. He'd need sustenance since he fully intended to stay up all night formulating some kind of plan to fix this mess. This place was his legacy, he was going to work on helping even if it was absolutely none of his business.


	2. The Work Song

**AN:** I AM AN UPDATING MACHINE. Let's cross our fingers and hope it lasts. Before we get back into this mess, a word for my lovely reviewers: **WhenTheNightIsOver- **Wow, that's dedication! Thank you for reading and for the compliment. You needn't be (too) concerned about Les Mis, it's one of my favorite shows and I promise, I won't let them ruin it. **missawesome1213- **Christine has been avoiding the HELL out of Erik. I don't blame her, poor girl. She just wants a nice, safe guy to cuddle up with, and Raoul is certainly all of those things, isn't he? **Writer of the North- **Hee, no problem! That's one superstition I love reinforcing. **StarCatcher1858- **I'm surprised myself! Full disclosure - I've been on spring break, which is why I had so much writing time, but I hope to keep the updates frequent. And this is...Leroux based. Ish. We'll call it Leroux-lite. With some ALW, Yeston-Kopit, Susan Kay, LonChaney, Wishbone Phantom of Manhattan/the Paradise/the Mall influences ;-) As far as musicals go, I have seen a lot of them, but I usually have to content myself with listening to soundtracks and watching PBS, bootlegs or recorded performances at movie theatres.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Phantom, nor Les Mis. If I did, I'd use my bazillions of dollars to pay off my student loans and live in luxury.

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><p><em>Look down, look down<em>  
><em>Don't look 'em in the eye.<em>  
><em>Look down, look down<em>  
><em>You're here until you die.<em>  
><em>- The Work Song<em>

"You may be wondering why I called this meeting," Erik began, dramatic as ever, pacing in front of the piano in Freddy's grandmother's den. As usual, he opted for the funeral-casual looked, dressing from head to toe in black, black converse, black jeans, black belt, black long-sleeved shirt with holes in the wrists for his thumbs to peek out. He was even wearing a black t-shirt the same shade as the longer shirt underneath. Saved him having to match fabrics and separate his laundry.

"Not really," Meg replied promptly.

"I think we have it figured out," Charlotte added, rolling her eyes.

"Because Tim's gone crazy, right?" Armand suggested from the floor, looking up from the Scabble game he was playing on his smart phone.

"Okay, yeah, because of that," Erik said, clearly irritated that they'd stolen his thunder. A week had elapsed between Tim's shocking announcement and everyone had been too busy catching up on their classes to get together and discuss it. This semester acting was being taught by Andrea, a plump middle-aged woman currently staring as Amanda in a production _The Glass Menagerie_ in Pawtucket. None of them had seen Tim since they said their goodbyes after returning home from New Hampshire. "But Tim hasn't lost his mind, there's a method to his madness, that's what I wanted to tell you about. You're not going to believe your ears."

Here he paused for effect. For those who were not well acquainted with Erik's mannerisms, they might have been on the edge of their seats, but most of the assembled crew looked bored and impatient. It took him _forever_ to tell a story when he got into this carnival barker mood.

"Get on with it!" Freddy groused a la _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_. Ahmed and Erik had been weird the last few days, it was _obvious_ they were keeping something from him and since he was paying a third of their expenses, he should have been told before everyone else. It bothered him tremendously that he was just as clueless as the rest of them.

Erik took a breath and made the dreadful announcement, "Tim chose _Les Mis_ because it might be our swansong. Memorial isn't doing well. Financially, I mean. If this isn't some kind of smash hit, if we don't get asses in seats every night of the run, the theatre might close."

There was a brief moment of silence before the chorus of outraged, loud reactions.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Freddy squeaked, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. No wonder they hadn't told them. No way he'd be able to keep his mouth shut about it until they were all together.

Charlotte's face paled noticeably as she sat up on her heels and demanded, "What happens to the program if the theatre closes?"

"No, that can't be right," Meg said, shaking her head and looking up at Erik with disbelief. "Mom would have known, she would have said - where did you hear that? Are you sure he said 'closed'? Did he actually say that, literally, those words?"

Raoul and Christine's reaction was quieter, but no less shocked as they gasped and gaped at Erik, wearing the same open-mouthed expression. They were sitting together on a love seat, appropriately enough. The only thing that had in any way dimmed the spring show bombshell until this moment of revelation was the news that the pair of them were an item. At least, everyone thought they were an item. They went to the movies together on Tuesday to see _The Vow_ and they held hands sometimes, though no one had seen them actively making out between classes nor had Christine come into the dorm with tales of sexual encounters. Meg and Sorelli hadn't said anything and they were incorrigible gossips.

It had occurred to Erik earlier in the week to be tremendously petty and keep them out of the loop. In moments of intense anger and douchebaggery he reminded himself that Christine was _leaving_ St. Mary's. At least, that was what she threatened at the Irene Ryans. Raoul would probably go along with her, trotting at her heels like an obedient puppy. What did they care about the future of their program or Memorial?

Two days before the meeting, however, he texted them both. In the first place, it would be impossible that they wouldn't find out from someone in their little group. In the second, he needed the show to be a success and he could imagine no one better than Christine in the role of Cosette. She never got back to him, but when she and Raoul pulled up to the house in his Mercedes (and a Mercedes? _REALLY?_) he assumed they cared a little bit.

"Like...close-close?" Christine asked, timidly, eyes flickering up at Erik before they settled on a spot behind his right ear. "Like, we might not have a school next year?"

_We_. She said _we_. That was...promising.

"Um, okay, it's not _that _dire," Erik clarified. "I mean, it _is_ – okay. Realistically, the old girl probably has a few more years in her before we put her out to pasture."

"How many is a few?" Armand demanded, looking angry and animated, highly unlike himself. "This is because of the damn renovation, isn't it? My dad _told_ Tim it was going to be too expensive."

"It can't just be the renovation," Jamie said reasonably. Then she started chewing her bottom lip. "Can it? How much did Tim blow on that chandelier anyway?"

"I don't even like the chandelier," Freddy said to anyone who would listen. "It doesn't fit the décor."

Personally, Erik didn't like the new chandelier anyway, but some patron had a burst of inspiration after visiting the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford and decided Memorial just _had_ to have a new chandelier to replace the old (admittedly precariously hanging) crystal monstrosity from the 50s. One of the issues with running a non-profit was the reliance on donations and when donors decided to be 'generous' there were usually strings attached. The modern, décor-clashing chandelier was one of them. Also, the donor only paid for the purchase of the piece, not for installation or upkeep.

"I don't think it was just the chandelier or the renovation or...okay, it was probably all of the above," Erik said, sitting on the piano bench since he'd lost control of the conversation anyway. "You know what the donors are like, they give us money to replace the curtains and then forget we need to treat them for fire and, you know, _dust_ them occasionally."

He cast a significant look around the room. "This is why we can't have nice things."

"Okay, forget the donors for a minute," Ahmed said, still outraged though he got the 411 over the phone days ago. "What about the subscribers? The sponsors? The _audience_? People like us! Where's that money going?"

Erik shrugged and sighed, "Salaries, building upkeep, licensing, sets, costumes, guys, theatre is _expensive_. And, in case it hasn't been hammered home to you on the news, we're in the middle of a recession. No one has money and people who do would rather spend it on NASCAR and not the arts."

"Who cares about NASCAR?" Raoul asked. Everyone turned to look at him, perplexed. "Well, seriously! I get sports, but who watches people drive around in circles for hours? Do people seriouly care about that?"

"Oh, honey," Meg said sadly, reaching up to pat him on the knee. "It's only the most popular sport in Amurkia."

"You're not a real Amurikin if you don't love the NASCAR," Sorelli agreed. Then, realizing they were totally derailing the conversation, tried to bring it back around to a topic of general interest. "But, okay, so, Memorial's not doing great, Tim is desperate to get revenue to ride out the economy slump. What can we do to help?"

There was a pensive silence. Meg broke it with a hesitantly voiced, "Rock the vote?"

That cut the tension a bit. Everyone laughed, even Erik who reached down to wear she was sitting to ruffle her hair as though she was a beloved family pet. "Cute, but I was thinking more along the lines of actually making a difference."

Half the room groaned; they'd all heard Erik's complaints about America's electoral process and _no one_ wanted to hear them again. "Stop," Ahmed said warningly. "Erik...kind of has a plan."

"I do in fact kind of have a plan," Erik agreed. "We need to make damn sure this is the _best show in the universe_."

Everyone paused a moment to let that sink in. Then Charlotte voiced what they were all thinking, "...how? We're not casting the show, technically it's a Memorial production. We're probably not even going to get main roles."

"Oh, _aren't_ we?" Erik asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Charlotte could cock with the best of them, "No. Unless you start blowing the director."

For a second, it looked like Erik was having a seizure. "Ewwwwww!" he shrieked, rubbing his eyes furiously. "OUT! OUT OF MY HEAD, VILE IMAGE!"

Even Freddy looked grossed out. "Wow, Char, here's the line," he said holding his hand up in front of his chest. "And there's you," he finished, pointing across the room with his other hand.

"We're not, though," she argued. "We're first year acting students, what the _hell_ chance do we stand getting cast in a big part? That's for third or fourth years."

"Hence why working our asses off before the auditions is required," Erik said, only semi-recovered from his bout of bad mental images. "And I think our chances are better than you give them credit for being. Not to insult our betters, but they don't have anyone _that_ young on the payroll. Bev and John are what, pushing thirty? And there are young boots to be filled in this show."

"We're not just young, we're pubescent," Freddy pointed out.

"Could you stop being self-defeating for a minute?" Erik asked rhetorically, prompting Freddy to mutter about pots and kettles. "If we're good, it doesn't matter how young we are, if we're _good_. Talent still counts for something here, if no where else in the goddamned world. And...not to undermine our talent, but let's face it - we're also convenient. If we're working a show at Memorial, that's one less show that our over-worked, over-extended instructors will have to worry about mounting on our end."

They could not deny that it made sense. Of course, if they were going to stand a chance of getting cast, they would have to start working on their audition pieces _now_. Tim posted the requirements on the company website, a 2-3 minute monologue accompanied by a 2-3 minute song. Between Erik, Freddy and Ahmed's personal collections, the students soon amassed quite a collection of play scripts and monologue books accompanied by several fake books from various musicals or collected works of musical theatre composers. Brows furrowed and heads bent, they began pouring over these documents as though their lives depended on it.

Well, all but one whose attention was torn between her work and her personal life.

Christine wasn't sure how she and Raoul started dating, but she was pretty embarrassed about the fact that their first kiss had a witness. For that witness to be _Erik _of all people was a whole new level of mortification. It took her a few days, but she had reached a realm of Not Angry anymore when she thought of him. Christine was a good, honest girl with a kindly disposition. Her innate ability to empathize was what made her so adept at acting. Sure, Erik shared some blame in the whole debacle in the parking lot, but she tried to imagine for a moment, how he felt. It was hard since Erik wasn't the sort to share his feelings, but she assumed he was angry that his friend's car was vandalized (she had been too, in the split second before she FREAKED that Erik was fighting) and then to lose his...in front of a friend...well, she still couldn't say she understood completely why he'd not told her about his face, but she understood why he was upset.

She just needed a little break from him was all, she decided and it wasn't hard to find Erik-negative space after they left New Hampshire. She lived in the dorms, he lived off-campus. They both had classes, she had her job at the coffee shop and he...probably worked somewhere. The girls filled her on the shocking _Les Miserables_ announcement, so she hadn't turned to Erik as a source of gossip. All in all, avoiding him was easy. Until they both had the idea to run off the the kitchen for beverages at the same time.

"So..." Erik began, cornering Christine between the wall and the refrigerator. It was an accidental cornering, she was trying to fill a glass with tap water and he opened the fridge to grab a soda, effectively trapping her. "You sort of suck at answering my texts lately."

She had the courtesy to blush bright red, at least. It was true, she had kind of...not answered Erik's texts. But, in her defense, she'd been busy, what with the homework and the Top Chef marathons and the dating Raoul which didn't feel much like dating since they only managed to squeeze in one movie and a brief dinner at a taco place in the week that they'd been together. There hadn't even been much more kissing. Christine wasn't sure how she felt about that, she _wanted _a boyfriend, so that was good, but she also wanted to get her schoolwork done and have time to decompress at the end of the day, so the slightly sporadic nature of their courtship was also good. Basically, it was all good.

"I've been busy," she said softly, more to her water glass than him. Erik removed a Coke from the fridge and proceeded to swallow about half the can in one mighty gulp. It was a little impressive. "I'm sorry, that's a lame excuse," she blurted out suddenly, even though Erik hadn't even raised an eyebrow at her explanation. "I just...uh...I just..."

Erik shrugged and flicked the tab on the Coke can absently. "That's cool. I just assumed you were still angry with me, I was wondering if you could confirm or deny that."

Without thinking, Christine reached over and flicked the tab back in his direction. "I'm not mad at you anymore," she clarified aloud, shifting on her feet a little uncomfortably. "I guess...I thought about it some more and I still don't think you should have run after that guy, that was stupid, but I get that you were upset about..." Her blue eyes locked on Erik's nose for a brief second before traveling further upward to look in his eyes. "Um. Yeah. So I can see why that made you go a little...I mean, if you'd just _told _me. Like, before, then it wouldn't have been an issue."

Erik sighed and flicked the tab back in Christine's direction. "I was trying to avoid making it an issue in the first place," he explained, looking as uncomfortable as Christine felt. "I guess I need to get over the fact that I can...I don't know, shroud myself in secrecy about all my personal failings."

"It's not a failing," Christine said, giving the tab another jab. "I mean..."

"It's all you can think about when you look at me, right?" Erik's voice was pretty neutral, but his eyebrows were knit together and the tab almost flew off the can when he poked it back at Christine.

She opened her mouth and drew in a breath, ready to tell him that it didn't matter and of _course_ it wasn't the first thing that came to mind when she thought about him. Except that it was and if she said that, it would be a lie. And Erik would know that. "Kinda," she said, lowering her eyes to the Coke can and the tab that she half-heartedly flicked back toward Erik. It detached from the rim and fell into the remains of his soda. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment and her throat felt dry. "I'm sorry."

Erik was sorry too. He was sorry about a lot of things, really, not the least of which was the fact that he couldn't finish his drink without worrying about potential choking hazards. "That's okay," he said, even though it very much was not."Well, if you haven't completely written me off the good ship friend, maybe you'll get used to it. One can get used to anything, if one wishes."

Christine looked up at him and smiled, this time it was genuine. "Haven't written you off, yet," she said sincerely. "Just...maybe give me a few months between freakouts?"

That might have been an unintentionally insulting statement, but Erik chose not to take it as such. "I'll do my best," he said, smiling in return and offering his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman. "Come, my lady. Let us rejoin the hunting party and brainstorm audition monologues."

Giggling and rolling her eyes, Christine took his arm and let Erik lead her back into the room. Raoul looked up in surprise when they entered together and Christine sat back down next to him. Erik walked toward the piano bench humming something that sounded suspiciously like "Luck Be a Lady." Raoul gave her a smile which Christine returned happily. "So...you guys are okay now?" he asked, cautiously.

"Yep," Christine said cheerfully. "All taken care of. Water under the...dam? Over the bridge? Whatever, we're cool, now we can get down to work."

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Feel free to skip this, but here's a little PSA, I think this is important for us all to keep in mind as the story goes forward: While Memorial isn't ready to close tomorrow, no one working there can be assured that the theatre will be around in ten or even five years. This is a problem facing MANY regional theatres, they may not be on the verge of bankruptcy yet, but often small theatres do not have any endowment or nest egg they can pull funding from when times get tough. It takes a lot of time, money and talent to put on truly great theatre. For a large regional theatre like Memorial with an established reputation for excellence, they need a certain amount of income from patrons, donors, sponsors and the audience to maintain that standard to stay in business and they, like many similar institutions are not getting the audience numbers or large financial backing to stay afloat.

This is where YOU can help, gentle readers! If you love theatre (as I suspect most, if not all of you do), I encourage you to see as much of it as possible. Going to Broadway is a treat and I am in no way disparaging it, but if you can't get to New York, go see shows locally! Whether it's an independent group doing pay-what-you-can shows at the local library, a repertory company like Memorial that offers discounts for matinee shows and students or amateurs doing Shakespeare at a park, go see it! Support local theatre, artists, actors, playwrights, directors and musicians as much as you can and you'll be amply rewarded as an audience member or artist in your own right.


	3. On Parole

**AN:** Another chapter, my dear readers! I wrote this as a bit of a pick-me-up, my computer is currently battling a virus and I'm not sure it will win. Faced with the prospect of little scenes and vignettes and plans for future phic going up in smoke, I decided to soldier on with this tale since it would make me feel better to get another chapter up. Even if I wind up losing everything and buying a new computer, the show must go on! But first, special thanks to my faithful reviewers:

**StarCatcher1858 -** Raoul is a confused, confused young man. I gave him his own chapter and cut it, poor thing, but it is posted in my collection of deleted scenes for this fic. As for the whole third and fourth year thing, I'm sorry if that confused you, I should have been more clear. The 30 year olds they're talking about are the youngest members of Memorial's adult ensemble, they're not in school. Charlotte was referring to the fact that she, Erik and everyone are only freshmen and saying that usually students in their program aren't cast in Memorial productions until they're juniors or seniors. If you want to know more about how I imagine the structure of the school and its relationship to the theatre, feel free to drop me a PM. **missawesome1213 - **Isn't Raoul just the cutest thing? I want to pinch his cheeks. I find most Raouls to be pretty likeable in general, he's certainly not a bad guy and from a love triangle perspective, he's a good catch. Except Philippe from the Y/K and Charles Dance versions, he's probably crawling with gross Belle Epoque STDs. **LadyAutreVita - **You read all of it in one night? That's stamina! Erik is determined that this will be the Best Show Ever(!) and that...well, I'm not sure if it bodes well or badly. We shall see. **WhenTheNightIsOver -** Me too! I just think they have the most amusing conversations and it was tough for me to write Christine being angry with him, it's not in her nature to be mad at people for very long. **Smidgie - **Aren't they just precious? And I ADORE Charlotte, I like me a sassy voluptuous Carlotta, but I couldn't make her a villain. Erik finds her snark too formidable, he felt it would be wiser to have her on his side.

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><p><em>The day begins...<em>  
><em> And now lets see<em>  
><em> What this new world<em>  
><em>Will do for me!<em>

_-On Parole  
><em>

"So, audition song?" Erik asked Ahmed, lazily sprawling over the sofa. It was nearly a week since their pre-audition pow-wow with the other students and Erik was mildly concerned that his friend didn't have a song selected yet. Ahmed had been sitting, minding his own business when suddenly he found Erik's head in his lap. Without asking permission, Erik snatched a book out of Ahmed's hand and glanced its contents over. "_The Secret History_?" he asked, looking up at him with an amused expression. "You think Dionysian rites are going to help us?"

Ahmed took the book back and tossed it carelessly on the coffee table. "Nope, pleasure reading. I, unlike you, don't spend every damn minute thinking about _Les Mis_. Because I don't do obsession."

Erik had the gall to look insulted. "I'm not obsessed," he said scornfully, "I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation."

The other boy could not deny that the situation was bad, but knowing Erik as he did, he knew his best bud wasn't throwing himself so fully into this production out of the goodness of his heart with no other motivation. It just wasn't how Erik operated. "Look guy," he sighed. "I know this is important to you and everything - I mean, don't get me wrong, me too - but are you sure there's not...something else? Like, bothering you, I mean?"

A moment of contemplative silence and then, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. I've known you since forever and I can tell when something's bothering you, so what is it? It's not like you're really good at hiding your emotions or whatever, you've been in a weird mood since New Hampshire."

"Well, New Hampshire _sucked_," Erik observed, not inaccurately.

Ahmed could admit that it did, in fact, suck, but if it had just been the Irene Ryan's, Erik would have been over it by now. "Seriously, what's up? Tell me or I'm kicking you off the couch."

"Nothing's _bothering _me. Aside from the fact that everyone I know and love is going to be unemployed if this show doesn't work out, oh, and maybe all my future prospects are going to crumble into ash and scatter to the four winds following that," Erik said, glaring up at Ahmed. "Maybe that's bothering me. A little. I'm getting off the couch anyway, Christine's coming by soon."

"Christine?" Ahmed repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Weren't you guys...not talking?" At least, he thought they were on the outs. Erik had barely mentioned her the last week and then there was that...incident in New Hampshire. Since elementary school Erik had been pretty tight-lipped about his little problem and those who did know had adequate warning before they saw him without his prosthesis. To be taken off guard in a parking lot and then to have someone _scream_ at you? Yeah, Ahmed was pretty surprised to find that the two of them were on speaking terms at all.

"We're talking now," Erik said shortly, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "I'm helping her work on her audition piece, she hasn't rehearsed it before. Actually, she doesn't know, but I'm going to make her switch songs, she should do 'Green Finch and Linnet Bird.'"

"Sondheim for a non-Sondheim? Risky."

"Only if it isn't performed well and she'll do a great job. Y'know, if she can get her mouth off of Raoul's face long enough to sing."

Green eyes suddenly lit up in understanding. "You're jealous," he said, trying to keep the triumphant tone out of his voice and failing miserably. "You like her, I fucking knew it, I fucking _told you_ and now she's with Raoul." Realizing how pompous and non-supportive he sounded (Erik's glare was getting uncomfortably piercing), Ahmed tried backpedaling. "I mean, that sucks, man, it really does, but if you'd made a move earlier - "

"What move?" Erik asked, abruptly rising from the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. "What move was I going to make exactly? Yeah, you win, I like her, big fucking deal. Should I have tried seducing her while I was having a total breakdown in the basement or should I have waited 'til she got a good hard look at me in the parking lot? I'm sure the kissing would have been fucking awesome, bumping noses is just so _awkward_, right? Fuck you, seriously."

Now Ahmed did feel contrite. "I'm not...I mean, I think she - "

"Stop," Erik held up a hand and gave Ahmed a warning look. "Just stop. Whatever you're going to say, I don't want to hear it." His phone buzzed on the coffee table just then and Erik picked it up, reading a text message. "She's outside." He picked up a folder off the piano and started walking toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Ahmed asked, getting off the couch. "I'll leave, I'm getting up."

Erik shook his head and said, "Here's what's going to happen. We're going to leave. I'm going to work with her on her audition piece at the theatre, then I'm going to come back and we're not going to talk about this. Got it?"

The other boy sighed and shook his head, sinking back onto the couch, "Whatever," he responded, which Erik took to be agreement with his plan. Repress, repress, repress.

Christine was standing on the porch, phone in hand, staring around at nothing in particular. The February day was unusually warm, so she was only wearing a light jacket and jeans. Her blonde hair was swept up in a ponytail which meant she had likely come from work since she usually wore it down. She looked fresh and pretty and Erik smiled at her a little stiffly as he came outside, draped in his usual black overcoat and fedora combo. Lately, he'd added fingerless gloves to the ensemble because he was such a hipster.

"Hi!" Christine chirruped brightly, then her brows knit as Erik shut the door to the house behind him. "Are we not practicing?"

"Ahmed's sick," he lied smoothly. "I figured we should probably find an alternative space. We've got time to get to Memorial, the Sunday mat is over, we've got a few hours before the evening performance gets started."

"Oh," Christine said, surprised, but she had no reason to doubt Erik's story. "Is Ahmed alright? Will the doors be open?"

"He'll be fine," Erik said, walking over to Christine's parked car. "Do you mind driving? The box office will probably be open, if not, I have a key."

Christine informed him that she didn't mind driving and don't worry about comping her for gas. As she started the engine, the sounds of Taylor Swift immediately assaulted Erik's eardrums and Christine turned the volume down with an apology. "Sorry, I like to blast...well, I guess Taylor Swift isn't something that needs to be blasted."

Erik agreed, but he didn't want to insult her taste in pop artist so soon after she decided she didn't hate his guts. "At least she writes her own stuff," he said, shrugging. It was really the nicest thing he could find to say about her.

"And she pretty much wrote all of _Speak Now_ by herself!" Christine said, proud as if it had been her own accomplishment. "My dad pretty much told me never to play her in the car, but he's such a music snob. Anyway, I know she's kind of cheesy and has this weird thing about stealing other people's boyfriends and being really self-righteous about it or whatever, but I just love her. Um, except for the thing where she might be playing Eponine. That's not cool."

"So not cool," Erik agreed. He had not really been keeping up with the casting for the _Les Miserables_ movie, he could deal with Hugh Jackman as Valjean (though privately, he'd been holding out for John Owen Jones who was _amazing_), but Russell Crowe as Javert? Please. "Who do you think is an acceptable alternative?"

"Um...I don't know, maybe Lea Michele?"

Her driving companion almost gagged. "Are you serious? You're kidding right?" Taylor Swift he could handle, but an unreasoning love of Lea Michele? Unacceptable.

"What?" Christine asked, taking her eyes off the road to glance at him to see how serious he was being in his scorn. "She's got a good voice and she's been on Broadway, what's wrong with Lea Michele?"

Erik just shook his head, "Ugh, I hate her. So much. I've thought she was annoying since _Ragtime._"

"Who was she in _Ragtime_?"

"The little girl, the one without a name, Tateh's daughter."

"No way! How did I not know that?"

The rest of the ride was spent debating the merits of Lea Michele as a singer and actress and _Glee!_ as a series. Unsurprisingly, Christine loved the first two seasons, but thought it had gone downhill recently and Erik never liked it and had low expectations ever since he heard about the concept. He'd only seen two episodes, but spoke with such authority on the show that Christine found herself deferring to his uninformed opinions more often than not. Being that it was a Sunday, they found parking relatively close to the theatre and Erik used his key to get them in a back door near the loading dock.

"Hey," he said, seemingly to no one, but then that weird SM who perpetually wore a series of knit hipster hats materialized from the darkness and nodded at them.

"You know where the antimacassars are? Olivia spilled grape juice all over the couch, we need to cover it."

"No clue," Erik said and that was apparently the end of the conversation. Christine followed quickly behind him as they walked through the bowels of the theatre up to the mainstage auditorium.

"What's his deal, anyway?" Christine whispered quietly, glancing over her shoulder.

"Whose? Slade? He's just...there. He graduated from Emerson in '07 and he just sort of showed up. He's incredibly competent, just not really social. He might have Asperger's or something, I don't know, I've never asked."

She accepted that explanation, but hesitated in the wings when Erik abandoned her to turn the stage lights on, keeping the house dark. Christine got an odd little thrill as he did so, the lights warmed up the stage and lent everything a sort of romantic, theatrical glow. She had been in this theatre before, but never walked on the stage. The auditorium was huge, there were hundreds of seats out there, upholstered in rich red fabric. Glints of gold from moldings and decorations on the walls and boxes made the whole place look like something out of a fairy tale. No wonder the theatre had money issues, the upkeep of the place must be insane.

Erik walked out onstage as though he owned the place, beckoning her over. Christine hesitated just a second before joining him. "Is it okay for us to be here?" she asked in a loud whisper.

"Sure," he said carelessly. "Everyone's gone for lunch and the show is being mounted upstairs, so it's not like we're screwing around with a set or anything. Come here, help me move the piano."

There was a baby grand tucked away in the wings. It was on casters, so moving it was not a huge hassle and Erik did most of the pushing, she just had to guide it away from weights and ropes abandoned around the flies. "Should I just..." Christine trailed off, when Erik loosely took hold of her arm.

Thin, but strong fingers were on her shoulders nudging her to a place upstage right. "This is the sweet spot on this stage," he said in her ear. "There are a few, but this is the easiest to wander over to during a performance."

"Oh," Christine said softly, then immediately understood why Erik called it a sweet spot as she heard her voice echoing back to her from the rear wall of the auditorium.

Erik smiled and then retreated to sit behind the piano. Raising his hands in a dramatic gesture over the keys he said, "Come, let us sing something musical, Christine!"


	4. The Bishop

**AN: **This one's a little short, but I left the last chapter in kind of a weird place and this just wrote itself. And Erik and Christine are so darned cute when people leave them alone, I couldn't resist.

**missawesome1213- **I hope you like this next bit! Hopefully the computer will resolve itself, I've resorted to writing this fic in Googledocs, which is a bit of a pain. **LadyAutreVita- **Wasn't that cute? I'm trying to force him to be a gentleman, but he's like, 'What was chivalrous 100 years ago is creepy now.' Erik considers himself a feminist, I was all, 'Put your hand on the small of her back!' and he was all, 'No, that's weird.' **WhenTheNightIsOver- **Thank you! I love the pop culture arguments and, yep, Christine is a Gleek (that's what they're called, right?). I'm very happy with Samantha Barks myself, thought why Ramin is not Enjolras I will NEVER understand.

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><p><em>And remember this, my brother,<br>See in this some high plan.  
>You must use this precious silver<br>To become an honest man._

_- Valjean Arrested, Valjean Forgiven_

Christine giggled. "You are so weird," she said, shaking her head. She brought a messenger bag along to the theatre with her and crossed over to the piano to give Erik her sheet music, but he shook his head.

"I found you something better," he asserted, holding a sheaf of papers in her direction. Christine didn't take them, she developed an adorable look of consternation and stamped her foot childishly.

"You don't even _know_ what I picked," she whined. "Come on, that's not fair, how do you know what you have is better?"

"Is it from _Miss Saigon_?" Erik asked patiently certain of what the answer would be.

Christine smiled in triumph, "No! It's from _Martin Guerre_! I thought it would be good to pick something from their song catalog that was kind of not as well known."

"There's a reason _Martin Guerre _languishes in obscurity. Nope, mine is better, no way around it." He thrust the papers in her general direction and Christine took them with a sigh.

"Sondheim?" she asked skeptically.

"Told you it was better," Erik said smugly. "You know the song, don't you?"

Yes, she did, but she asked Erik to play it through anyway, just to stall. Christine liked watching him play the piano, she had taken lessons once upon a time, but didn't have the manual dexterity or patience it took to master an instrument. Erik made it look effortless.

"Ready?" Erik asked expectantly, hands poised over the keyboard.

Christine suddenly felt incredibly nervous. When they were all gathered round the upright in the guys' living room, she was just one of the gang, practicing along with everyone else. It was a little intimidating to be alone with Erik, on this stage, in front of this grand house preparing to sing a fairly challenging song. "Uh, yeah, sure," she said, exhaling and smiling uncertainly. "You'll tell me if I suck, right?"

The look on Erik's face was skeptical, "Christine, you could never suck. You have one of the best voices I've ever heard, honestly."

Ordinarily such a compliment would have caused her to blush, but she couldn't help thinking of the criticism she'd gotten only a few weeks ago. 'Sweet-voiced,' they'd called her and it hadn't sounded anything like a compliment. "I mean, sometimes I don't have good breath support," she said in a rush. "I get kind of breathy, you know, I rely on the microphone - "

"There aren't any microphones here right now and, yes, I've noticed you lose power at the bottom of your range, but that's something you can work on," Erik said, perfectly reasonably. "I'm not expecting perfection, it's why we're practicing, remember?"

"But you're perfect!" she burst out suddenly. It was true; she'd never heard his voice crack, never heard him struggling to hit a note, his singing was never pitchy and he could play the piano like he was born to do it. Not to mention the fact that this wasn't the only instrument he knew how to play, Meg told her he was great with a guitar and _amazing_ (her words, complete with implied italics) on the violin. It was legit unfair for so much talent to exist in one body.

It was clear, however, that Erik did not agree with that assessment. "Uh-huh," he said, his voice low and mildly patronizing. "I'm perfect. Yeah. Okay, whatever." He swallowed visibly and addressed his remarks to the shiny surface of the piano rather than to her face. "I practice. I rehearse. And...not to make this all about me, but I've worked pretty damn hard at what I do. So, don't be nervous, don't feel like you have to impress me. Just sing for me, Christine."

She felt...well, she wasn't sure how she felt. Erik's voice was so low and quiet, she felt like she needed to apologize when all she'd done was pay him a compliment. But, of course, it was a compliment that wasn't true. Even if Erik _was_ ridiculously talented, it didn't negate his other...shortcomings. This time she did blush. Was there anything more to say?

Erik did not seem to believe so. He began a few vocal exercises to warm her up and then launched into the introduction of her song. The first few bars were very quiet, Christine was still preoccupied by how stupid she'd been to level the charge of 'perfection' at her friend, but slowly she gained confidence and thought she was doing pretty well. That was a mistake; complacency was something that should not be felt around Erik for too long.

Abruptly, he stopped playing and gave Christine a searching look. "What?" she asked, feeling incredibly self-conscious. "Was I sharp?"

"You mimic the soundtrack, don't you?"

"I - " Christine started, then bit her lip, scuffing her toe on the stage and chancing a glance at Erik. "Was I bad?"

He didn't answer her. "Do you only have the Tim Burton version? Because you breathed in exactly the same spots and put emphasis on exactly the same words. Also, there was some kind of attempted British accent happening, you totally lost the 'r' in 'bird,' did you know you were doing that?"

In truth, she did not. "Sorry," she said, looking down at her music with a furrowed brow. "I just...I don't know, it's how I like to learn songs, I like to listen to someone else sing them so I have a...guide." Even as the words were leaving her mouth they felt lame as hell.

"Don't do that," Erik said, then, realizing that was not remotely helpful advice, elaborated. "I mean, listen to soundtracks if you want, but make the song your own. Especially for an audition, you're not going out for Joanna, you're going for Cosette. The reason I chose this for you is because both characters feel like they're being held back - Joanna's literally trapped in a house and Cosette is trapped by Valjean's secrets. It's different, the characters might be dealing with similar emotions, but in different ways. You get it?"

Uh...hold the phone. No. "I'm going for Cosette?" Christine asked, sounding horrified. "What? What are you talking about?"

This time it was Erik's turn to look embarrassed. "Uh...well, I mean, you'd be - um. Okay, here's the thing: I fucking hate Cosette. She is whiny and simpering and stupid. Have you seen the 1998 version? With Liam Neeson?"

Christine shook her head in the negative.

"Right, well, it kind of dicks around with the story, but Cosette is just awful and Javert - they sort of assassinated his character - but he slaps her at one point and, for me, that was just great."

"...and you want me to play her because...?"

"Because you're sincere," Erik said, as though that explained everything. "You exude this...I don't know, I'm going to say innocence and you're going to be offended, but innocence. There's this aura you exude, you're wholly unspoiled. And the only way to ensure that Cosette does not come across as this annoying spoiled brat is to be absolutely sincere in everything you do."

Christine considered this statement and then replied, "Did you just quote _Sense and Sensibility _at me?"

Erik shrugged. "Maybe. The point is that I mean it."

She could see that he did. Erik might be maddening and he might fluster her beyond belief, but Christine felt like there was a gooey marshmallow peep where her heart was supposed to be. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she said and felt, to her horror, that her eyes were getting a little teary and couldn't help but think, _Jeez am I PMSing or something? Get it together, Christine!_

Another shrug, "Well, I've given you a lot of crap recently, I'm sorry. It's not as though I'm saying something that isn't true."

She leaned against the top of the piano and smiled at Erik, blinking back the sudden onset of awkward tears. "You have definitely given me crap," she teased. "And, you know, quoting Emma Thompson is cool, but I think you should do more to make up for it. Like buy me a pony."

Erik grinned and suddenly he was not the musical demi-god, but a dorky teenage boy. "Ponies bite. I'll buy you a cupcake, how's that?"

"Cupcakes are delicious," she admitted. "That'll do. Ooh, and a carousel ride at the park."

"Will do," he nodded solemnly. "It's a date."

She grinned, but it faded a little at the word 'date.' She had no qualms about hanging out with Erik, or indeed, any of the boys solo before she and Raoul became a thing. Would he be jealous? Okay, not of Armand and Freddy, duh, that would be stupid, but what about Erik and Ahmed? Christine was pretty sure Ahmed was straight, though he'd never done anything close to flirting with her and Erik...was an enigma. Also, recalling the conversation of last October, Raoul kinda sorta dug him. Once upon a time. So that was just weird.

Resolving to have a chat with Raoul later, Christine decided not to dampen the mood of their little practice session again and asked, airily, "So, I'm Cosette, who's everyone else?"

"Not sure," Erik said. "Oh, I have this idea for an ideal cast, but it probably won't happen, so I won't get my hopes up. John is so Javert though, no question, even if he is a little on the young side, I think he can handle it. And if Tim has any sense, he'll cast Bev as Fantine. My mom would slit throats for that part, but she's over the hill - and if you tell her I said that, I will denounce you as a filthy liar."

Christine smiled and crossed her heart, "That'll go to my grave, scout's honor." She had actually been a Girl Scout from second to seventh grade, so it was a completely serious vow. "What about you?"

"Me?" Erik asked, as though he were surprised by the question. "I don't know, probably a random student or something, one of the bodies on the barricade. It's not like I'd play Marius."

"Aww, you couldn't do love-sick?" Christine asked sweetly.

"Not convincingly," Erik said with a minor roll of his eyes. "Besides, with you as Cosette? Unthinkable."

"Why?" Christine asked, feigning a bit of outrage. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

"Oh, completely," Erik said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Do you know how short you are? And next to me? We'd look _ridiculous_."


	5. What Have I Done?

**AN: **I'm trying to give you guys an update a week at least, hopefully it's a pace I can keep up for the rest of the semester, but we'll see! I have to say, I am loving all the guesses about casting for the show, keep 'em coming. Next update I'm planning on doing the auditions, so you've got at least one more set of reviews before we find out who's who! Maybe a little prize to the reviewer who matches the most kids with the right parts (keep in mind, none of them will be playing the "grown-up" parts, like Valjean or Javert), what do you guys think?

**LadyAutreVita**- Hee, you think so? Well, he'd be better than the Jonas Brother! (Which Jonas Brother it was, I don't remember, in my mind Marius IS Michael Ball). **missawesome1213****- ** He is SUCH a hipster, isn't he? It's one of the things I love most about him. I imagine him being pretty emo in high school, but for college he decided to stop straightening his hair and go full hipster. I also find Erik and Christine just adorable together, I want to make supplemental chapters where they sit around and watch movies (like a very meta version of the Phantom Reviewer) since they'd be hilarious and play off each other well. Erik would be an INTENSE Marius, that's for sure, but they make a bizarre looking couple. I kind of want to make a size chart for all these kids, but Erik is 6'5 and Christine is 5'2, just to be official. **Alice'slittlemidgetfriend- **Guess away, I'd love to hear it! And I too compulsively check my email for stories I have on alert, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long! I know I'm not the first to do a Phantom/Les Miserables crossover, but it's too tempting not to!** WhenTheNightIsOver- **I think Erik is pretty talented, but I pity the poor Valjean who'd have to drag his lanky body all over the stage. And haha! My problem as a fan is that I'm a completist, I watch EVERYTHING, it's not as intense with Les Mis as it is with Phantom, but I do manage to find something I like about (most) versions. And Liam Neeson was a sexy Valjean, I must say.

**Disclaimer**: Just to check in, I own not Phantom or Les Mis or The Last Five Years or Scarlet Pimpernel or SYTTD or Teen Mom or MTV or TLC or any other abbreviations that appear in this fic.

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><p><em>What have I done?<br>Sweet Jesus, what have I done?  
>- Valjean's Soliloquy<br>_

How did this happen? Merciless hazel eyes met guileless blue eyes over the top of the piano. The setting was wrong for a confrontation like this, chintz sofas and porcelain figurines surrounded them, but there was an intensity in the room that could not be denied and the sense that something was going to just _snap_.

"Uh..." Raoul said, clearing his throat. "So, um, do you think this one's okay?"

Raoul really wasn't sure, now that he was in Erik's living room, why he thought that getting Erik to help him with his audition song. Auditions were a week away and he'd used up the previous three weeks picking and memorizing a monologue, so it was definitely crunch time, maybe desperation had something to do with it.

It all came up in this weird conversation he had with Christine a few weeks ago; she mentioned that Erik was helping her with her audition song and did he mind that she was spending so much time with him?

_No, why would I_? Was the first thing that sprang to mind. Raoul thought Erik was really doing much better now than he was over the holidays, he seemed a little happier than usual anyway, though he'd been kind of...scarce since New Hampshire. Probably spending more time with that girlfriend/boyfriend that Christine had been so upset about. She never brought it up after that night in the hotel gym and he hadn't pressured her to spill any more of the juicy details. Raoul wasn't much of a gossip.

Wasn't much of a jealous type either, which was why he had not caught the implication of Christine's question until a few hours later. She thought he'd be jealous. Huh. Why? Erik had a mysterious SO, Christine and he were dating, it wasn't like she and Erik were having...passionate canoodling sessions at the theatre or whatever. Christine would never, she was way too honest for that kind of thing, he was absolutely sure.

So far from jealousy was his mind that Raoul actually asked if Christine thought Erik would mind giving _him_ a hand with his own audition? She lit up like a Christmas tree and grinned and said that he should totally call and ask, apparently she was relieved he didn't think she was a strumpet or something. She texted Erik immediately and about an hour later he wrote back and said he had a free afternoon on Tuesday if Raoul wanted to swing by the house.

That hadn't seemed like a mistake until Raoul got there and discovered that Ahmed and Freddy were at work, leaving him alone in the house with Erik. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a one-on-one conversation with Erik, if he ever had. Usually when they interacted, they were in a bigger group and though Erik had stopped being _quite_ so antagonistic toward him, they weren't exactly the best of friends.

He had to avoid fidgeting like a little kid when Erik called him into the living room and fixed him with an inscrutable stare. Even though he was so skinny that he looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over, there was something about Erik which indicated that you probably didn't want to mess with him. Maybe it was his height, maybe it was the fingerless gloves that called to mind Merchant-Ivory gangsters in Raoul's imagination, but Erik made him feel a little nervous.

Frankly, Erik was feeling just as uncomfortable, though if he was jiggling a leg nervously behind the piano, it was impossible for Raoul to know. He thought these brief lessons with Christine would serve to take the edge off his entirely inappropriate crush, but no dice so far. If she wasn't singing, that might help since when they were done, she usually wanted to take advantage of the fact that he and the boys sprang for cable in January to settle in for marathons of _Teen Mom_ and _Say Yes to the Dress_, which were horrific shows for entirely different reasons, but even that was tolerable because she got so invested in the lives of the stupid spoiled brats featured on the program. Christine didn't feel anything by halves and apparently Erik couldn't either.

Truly, when he agreed to give Raoul a hand with his audition, it was not from an altruistic motivation. A terrible idea sprang into Erik's mind when he got that text: If Raoul trusted him enough to go to him for audition help, then he probably trusted him enough to listen to whatever recommendations Erik would make regarding song choice and he could _completely _fuck this up for him. Completely fuck this up. A host of inappropriate audition pieces flitted through Erik's mind, but he was distracted from his thoughts of sabotage by the reply buzzing in his back pocket.

Removing his phone from his jeans, Erik felt his villainous thoughts fly away when he read an incoming text from Christine.

**thx SO much 4 helping him :-) ur the best!**

How could he look into the innocent, trusting eyes of that smilie emoticon and contemplate ruining Raoul's chances of getting in the show?

And Raoul was _not _a bad guy. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Just because Raoul looked like every jockish, vapid, popular douchebag from high school did not mean that he was. Except the vapid part, Erik thought he could safely call him vapid, but he was a nice kid and he had a decent voice and if he wanted help - if _Christine _wanted him to help him - then Erik needed to suck it up, put on his big boy pants and deliver.

Reminding himself that he was 'the best' (!), Erik reached out and took hold of Raoul's sheet music, frowning down at the choice. "Tell me honestly, how much work have you done with this?"

Raoul's face fell, "But I thought you liked Jason Robert Brown! Christine said you liked him!"

_Gods give me strength_. Erik just managed to repress a sigh as he replied, "It's not about what I like, it's about what works for the show - and I really do like this song and if you were auditioning for...something else, I'd say maybe, if you cut it down, but 'Nobody Needs to Know' is both too long and too modern for this one. How much work have you done?"

"I've started working on it, I picked out the beats - "

"And sang it in the shower, okay, square one, good, it's not too late to change," Erik said briskly. "Just hang out for a minute, I'll be back." And he crossed the room in a few long strides, disappearing upstairs.

Raoul stood awkwardly in the middle of the room and was struck by a completely random thought, _I wonder what it's like to be that tall? _He was on the short side for the average American male at 5'8 in shoes, or at least it felt that way watching movies and TV shows where most of the main characters were 6' or more. It was enough to make an otherwise average American guy feel inadequate.

Erik did return a minute later with a bright red fake book in hand. "What you need is a modern song from a period musical, it's what I'd recommend anyone going for something like this. You know _Scarlet Pimpernel_?"

"...no?" Raoul said, embarrassed and thinking that it sounded like some kind of horrible skin condition.

The fact that Erik stared at him like he was a complete moron did not help the situation. "O...kay," he said slowly. Sometimes he had to remember that what he considered pop culture was not actually part of a typical teenage boy's cultural experience. "Well, there's this guy Percy in the show and he's pretty badass. Long story short: It's the French Revolution - "

"Like in _Les Mis_?" Raoul asked eagerly, trying to prove that he wasn't totally stupid. Erik's look of pity just deepened. It was the look you gave a stupid puppy who was proud of the fact that it was returning a stick to you when you'd actually thrown a ball.

"Different revolution," Erik said, then, because he didn't want to stomp all over Raoul's spirit added, "The French love to revolt, it's one of their favorite things, they've had, like, a million. _Scarlet Pimpernel_ is THE French Revolution, all caps, _Les Mis_ is...just a revolution. In France. Anyway, so Percy's this English guy with this hot French wife only he thinks she sold one of his friends out and got the guy guillotined. So he and his fop friends -."

"What's a fop?"

Erik ran a hand through his hair, impatient, "Uh, like a dandy."

"...like, gay?"

"More like a flaming heterosexual in this context. Whatever, the point is, he's badass and betrayed and rocks a cravat, wig and heels like no one else."

Raoul was not impressed. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, watching Erik untangling the earbuds for his iPhone. "Can't we just stick with _The Last Five Years_?"

"No, trust me, you'll love this," Erik said confidently, scrolling through his music downloads and approaching Raoul with the ear buds. "Listen - dude, I don't have ear AIDS, their clean, put them in. This song's called 'The Prayer,' Percy's furious because his friend is dead and heartbroken because he thinks Marguerite - that's the wife - betrayed him, but he still loves her and he's talking about how he's going to pull himself together and man up."

Raoul listened to the song, unimpressed at first, but slowly his eyes widened and he positively gushing when the song was over. "That's...really good, you think I can sing that?"

Erik shrugged, "It's not out of your range, we'll work on it. The key is being vulnerable and strong at the same time."

Skeptical blue eyes looked up at Erik through an errant lock of blonde hair. Raoul was really such an American Eagle model, he was so cute you just wanted to slap him. "Really? Isn't that a little...different? Can you do both at once? Like, wouldn't it make more sense to be strong on one line and heartbroken on another?" His high school drama teacher said it made it easier, when reading a script, to assign each beat an emotion and play that emotion so the scene could be layered and the actor wouldn't go crazy trying to do too much.

"You can do that if you're lame," Erik said, then cracked a smile. "No, but seriously, Percy's a complicated character and every character in our show is...insanely complicated. With way too much backstory. If you beat it out like sad/strong/depressed/defiant, it's going to make you look totally schizo. You want to bring a lot of emotion, but be subtle at the same time, don't just whack people over the head with, 'I'M SO SAD! Look at me, I'M SO SAD! Are you watching me CRY?'"

Erik said it in such an overwrought, demanding way that Raoul couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, whatever you say, I mean, I heard Christine singing _Sweeney Todd_ and she sounded freaking awesome, so whatever you do works."

Really, what Erik did was apply all the usual vocal techniques and add his own theatrical interpretation on top of that, but it worked for some people. Like Christine. Hopefully it would work on Raoul.

"Ready to go?" Erik asked, sitting down in back of the bench. "I'll play it through a few times, you can look on in the book for the lyrics. If you need me to stop and go over something just say so, otherwise I'll stop you when you fuck up and it'll be embarrassing." He smiled again, so Raoul figured he was kidding.  
>Assuming Erik was being light-hearted whether he was or not made Raoul feel a lot better about this whole experience and by the end of the lesson, he was pretty amped about the whole audition thing and confident that he could run off and practice on his own. Erik was kind of businesslike when they started, he had all kinds of things to spout off about, like the way Raoul held his head and formed his vowels and used his diaphragm, but he wasn't being actively mean. Raoul optimistically assumed he was making strides toward friendship and so acted that way when he was gathering his things to go.<p>

"Hey, what are you singing?" he asked suddenly, grinning. "Are you giving everyone else the semi-okay songs and saving something awesome for you to blow us all away?"

Erik plucked out a few notes that sounded like the opening to Billy Joel's "Piano Man" and shrugged. "I'm just doing something from _Chess_, it doesn't really matter, I'm not expecting much."

"What do you mean?" Raoul asked incredulously. "Come on, are you kidding? You're, like, an expert on this stuff."

Erik's tone was a little chilly when he replied, "There's not really a role I'm suited for in the show, I told Christine, I figure I'm slated to be an ensemble member, maybe a named student. That's not bad, ensemble has plenty to do and I want to be the guy who has the line about, 'The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France,' that one's pretty sick."

Sick-good or sick-bad, Raoul wasn't sure, but he just shook his head and stood his ground. "No, come on, Erik, you're, like, really talented." Maybe Erik was just fishing for compliments. That's what his mom usually said about people who acted like they had low self-esteem, she said it was really annoying and they shouldn't do it. Raoul wasn't sure he agreed, especially since Erik wasn't really shy about asserting himself as being the smartest person in the room. "Well," he added, trying for a kind of jockular levity. "Ensemble will have less rehearsal time, right? You can hang out with your girlfriend more."

Erik's head snapped up. "What?" he asked, his tone downright deadly.

"Or boyfriend," Raoul added hastily, smiling. "No judgement."

Erik got up and was standing toe-to-toe with him just _glaring_ and Raoul was wondering what the hell he'd just said when Erik turned abruptly, running a hand through his hair and visibly exhaling. "Look," he said, his voice tight, but not as nasty as before. "Raoul, I know we don't know each other _that_well and maybe you've heard some shit about topics to avoid with me, but my friends don't fucking talk about my sex life. Got it?"

Not really, since he hadn't been talking about _sex_ specifically, just boyfriends and girlfriends, but Raoul nodded nervously. "Uh...okay. Sorry. Is there - "  
>"We <em>don't<em> talk about it," Erik said, turning around, his arms folded and shoulders hunched. "Just don't. Avoid it like how we avoid talking about the fact that I'm a basket case and my...uh, eventual hair loss."

"Huh?"

"The men on my mom's side of the family are usually bald before 30, it's a great tragic fate that I will vainly hope to avoid," Erik said, talking a little too quickly and a little too casually. "Sorry to kick you out, but I need to get to my parents' house for dinner."

He needed to do no such thing, but Raoul knew a social cue when he heard one and he stuttered his thanks and was gone a moment later. Erik slumped to the floor outside the door to the porch and nearly jumped when his phone buzzed. His heart rate slowed, he was grateful that it was just Ahmed asking if he wanted Thai food for dinner. With all his angst over Christine, it stirred up unpleasant memories and he was afraid that the caller ID would come up as the number in his phone which was named **HELLSPAWN DONOTANSWER**. Ahmed programmed it in every time Erik upgraded his phone, but the number hadn't shown up in over a year now. Still, better not to think about it.

Repress, repress, repress. Delicious red curry was on the way. The show was going to be cast by next week and then he'd be so busy he wouldn't have a moment to spare for unwelcome and unwanted emotions like lust and loneliness.


	6. At the End of the Day

**AN:** I did fully intend to put a complete cast list in this chapter, but the whims of the story gods had to be obeyed, so not yet. NEXT chapter we will have the full cast list posted, so you are free to speculate to your hearts' content.

**WhenTheNightIsOver –** THEY ARE! But after auditions come callbacks, so we still haven't got this beast cast yet. I'll have you know that Erik is pouting and scowling at what he perceives to be a jab at his bald-headed future. He's so cute when he's angry. And isn't Raoul the sweetest thing? Even ERIK can't hate him forever. **LadyAutreVita – **The mysterious number is intended to be mysterious, never fear, you haven't missed anything. All will be revealed in time. Your friend's comments about the Jonas had me giggling, that's actually a really funny thing to come out of a really tragic performance. **Missawesome1213 – **Hee! I'm being kind of a tease, but that subplot will unfold in time. They do look a little silly together, admittedly, but I find pairs of awkwardly sized people to be kind of cute myself. I'm taller than Christine, but I had to perform with an actor who was 6'5 once, it was…an interesting experience. **Alexis – **Oh, thanks so much! That's a lovely thing to say, I appreciate it. I find that I don't *hate* Raoul, usually, but he does usually come across as a bit of a privileged brat. I try to keep him privileged, but not a brat. I like that you like my Erik, he has his good days and bad days. I've been very proud of him lately for keeping the crazy to a minimum. Thanks for the review, I hope you like this next bit!

* * *

><p><em>At the end of the day you're another day older<em>  
><em> And that's all you can say for the life of the poor<em>  
><em> It's a struggle, it's a war<em>  
><em> And there's nothing that anyone's giving<em>  
><em> One more day standing about, what is it for?<em>  
><em> One day less to be living.<em>  
><em>-At the End of the Day<em>

The audition process was awfully clandestine. Andrea, their acting teacher, had a love of Pinter and Churchill, so they were spending most of their time in class on stylized 20th century British drama, trying to remember to breathe in all the right places. And that was on top of all their other classes. Christine was beginning to feel like the semi-cohesive unit of last semester was breaking up under the strain, the only person she was seeing with any regularity - apart from her room mates - was Erik. Between her job and Raoul's class schedule, she was getting no facetime with her boyfriend. They weren't even rehearsing the same scene together from class, she got up early in the morning to put in hours at the coffee shop and though they'd talk on the phone at night and between classes, she was too tired to even go out for a slice of pizza at night once her homework was done.

They didn't even get the chance to commiserate and support one another during auditions. Unlike the _Godspell _auditions, everyone had a block of time to sign up for and with their class and work schedules, there was no opportunity for the students to sit around together, comparing notes and frightening away the competition.

Sorelli sent a mass text before her audition which read, '**OMG that BITCH from g-spell is here!**'

_Which_bitch specifically was never made clear, but they all knew this would not be a run of the mill audition for a school show. There were serious, professional Equity actors who were coming out for this show. Memorial's adult company was in the running for the main roles, of course, but there were other actors and actresses from area theatres who were putting in time auditioning for the show and Christine had three stress dreams in the nights leading up to her audition. One of them involved her missing her time slot completely. In the other, she forgot the words to her song. In the third, she showed up on time and killed it on the vocals, but blanked on her monologue. In all of them, Erik was incredibly disappointed.

She couldn't thank him enough for the help he was giving her and everyone else. In the few minutes they had time to chat during class breaks, everyone in their little group admitted to seeking him out for help with their music. Most of the students had their own vocal teachers, but it was hard to schedule appointments as full-time college students with jobs and homework. Christine especially had trouble getting to her vocal lessons in Massachusetts and Erik always seemed to have time for her. It was so sweet of him and she was so grateful - he totally had a pass for his next mental breakdown,no questions asked. If he revealed that he had a removable ear, she promised herself she wouldn't even blink an eyeball.

Luckily, her nightmares had no bearing on reality, she sang well, even though she felt like there was a whole flock of butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. She was performing for Tim, Slade the SM and Gaspard was on piano. They didn't really engage her beyond thanking her for coming and greeting her by name when she came in. Logically, Christine knew they were just feeling stressed and short on time, but she couldn't help thinking she made a miserable showing.

She stood off to the side of Rehearsal Room G, music in hand, her throat feeling tight. Had she blown it? Beyond Erik's encouragement, she wanted to perform Cosette. Even though he'd dressed the character down as being 'fucking annoying' more than once, she'd been fantasizing about playing the role since she was little and performed "Castle on a Cloud" at a recital. Who didn't dream of wowing everyone and getting a lead part?

They were just busy, she told herself. That was why they hadn't said much. They were busy with auditions and mounting the show. They might have at least given her a perfunctory 'good job,' though. It might make her feel less insecure.

Biting her lip, Christine made her way out of the theatre and onto the street but stopped in the doorway of the theatre when she heard a hesitantly voiced, "Hey," behind her.

"Raoul!" she said, smiling, though she was not super-happy to see him. She just wanted to drive back to the dorm and bury her head in her pillow. "Hey, I thought you auditioned already?"

"Yeah," he said, "yesterday." A moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around - "

"I was wondering if you were busy - "

They both broke off and laughed awkwardly.

"I'm not busy," Christine said, smiling genuinely this time. "I mean, I've got a quiz in Psych tomorrow, but I basically gave up on studying for it, like, when it was announced."

"Cool," Raoul said, smiling in turn. "Want to get dinner?"

'Dinner' wound up being greasy sliders and fries, but having food in her stomach made Christine feel better. So did knowing that Raoul faced a similar Wall of Blah at his audition the day before.

"Yeah, I felt like such a loser," he said, shaking his head and liberally dousing his fries in malt vinegar. "I was all, 'Hey guys!' and they were like, 'Hi, Raoul, what are you singing?' but all...serious, you know?"

"Totally," Christine agreed, riding her tiny burgers of onions. "I mean, they barely said two words to me, which, okay, but you could smile, right? Or look up from your clipboards? God, if this is what they're like to us, I feel bad for people coming in who they don't know!"

"Ha, seriously! Armand went in, like, ten minutes before me, he said they were the same to him. I got there wicked early, there were a bunch of other kids, like from _Godspell_auditions? How awkward will that be if they get in and we don't?"

"Oh my God, I don't even want to think about it," Christine said, rolling her eyes and slurping the remnants of her soda loudly through a bendy straw. "Can you imagine Erik's reaction? He'd flip the hell out!"

"Seriously!" Raoul said with a laugh. "Like, he'd go totally Gandolf on them, standing in front of the theatre in his big black coat yelling, 'NONE SHALL PASS!'"

Christine laughed as well, feeling slightly giddy and relieved. At least the first hurdle was passed. If she got a callback, she got a callback, if she didn't, well, that would be more time to spend on her other subjects...actually, no, she'd be devastated if she didn't get in at all. There would be tears. Messy, undignified sobbing. And Erik would be so disappointed. "At least we don't have to wait long to find out about callbacks, I almost signed up for a slot last week, but the waiting would kill me."

"Yeah, I kind of...kept forgetting to email Slade to set my spot up," Raoul said, smiling ruefully. "Charlotte finally sat me down at a computer and watched me do it - we're in the same history class, we were studying in the library, but she couldn't stop talking about auditions and I told her I kept forgetting to sign up. She's a little intense sometimes."

Christine nodded. Charlotte was certainly that, but she'd been super nice to her since they got back from New Hampshire. Apparently they were buds now since they faced down The Man together. Totally fine with Christine, she'd rather have friends than frenemies. She was in the middle of her second slider when Raoul abruptly reached across the table and took her slightly grody hand.

"I'm really glad we've got to spend time together," he said, very serious all of a sudden. "I feel like a really crappy boyfriend."

"Aw, you're not," Christine said, giving his hand a squeeze, but thinking in the back of her mind, she kind of wanted to wipe her fingers on a napkin and then go back to hand-holding. "I mean, I'm a crappy girlfriend too, since I'm so tired. I need to cut back on my hours at the coffee shop, I can't keep going in every morning before class."

"It's just that...uh, I've never done - I never had a girlfriend before," Raoul said in a rush, turning bright red.

Chrisine's eyebrows popped up pretty high. It was...kind of a random thing to say a month into their, um, courtship? Let's call it a courtship. "Well...that's okay," she said encouragingly. "I never had a boyfriend."

"I went to an all-boys school, I played lacrosse for two years, but I wasn't great at it and I was shy, so I started doing theatre instead, which, you know, is cool and all, but I didn't date anybody, so if I'm a lame boyfriend I'm sorry - "

"Raoul," Christine interrupted, smiling gently at him. "It's okay, really, you don't have to, like, explain anything to me. I don't care that you haven't dated anyone, that's fine. It's all fine."

Apparently, it wasn't all. Raoul took a breath, let go of her hand and ran his fingers through his hair. "I've never had sex," he said after an embarrassed pause. "I mean, in case you were wondering why we haven't...you know."

Now it was Christine's turn to go red. "Uh, that's okay too." Raoul shot her a skeptical look. "Really!" she said. "I'm not...like, okay, I'm not saying I _never_want to, but we don't have to...do anything right away. Jeez, we've only been dating, like four weeks. Less! I mean, if you count the time we've actually spent together, this is, like, our third date. It's okay. Totally okay, Raoul. Really. Cross my heart and hope to die."

This got a smile out of him. "Okay," he said, exhaling. "I just didn't want you thinking I didn't...I don't know what I was thinking. I just want to make sure you're okay with everything."

Christine was nodding before he even finished his sentence. "I am 100% okay with everything. Everything is great right now."

They left the restaurant with a chaste parting kiss and Christine walked back to her car, jingling her keys in her hand. Okay. Breathe. She'd passed her initial audition. She was heading back to bed, she could maybe cram for her test in the car before class -

"Evening Christine," came a quiet voice somewhere above her.

Christine shrieked and jumped a mile. Erik was standing on the other side of her car, smirking. "OhmyGOD, don't do that!" she yelled, one hand to her heart. "You almost gave me a freaking heart attack! Jeez, everyone is sneaking up on me today."

"Sorry," he said, but didn't sound it. "I've got some good news - "

"And you decided to stalk me outside my car to tell me? God, can't you just text me? Or call me? Or do anything other than lie in wait for me like a mugger?"  
>"I mean, I can text you," Erik said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "If you'd prefer. And I wasn't 'lying in wait,' I was auditioning, I saw your car, I figured I'd wait for you. I didn't think you were going to take so <em>long<em>, but that's whatever. Anyway, there was no lying involved." He was silent as he texted her and Christine, now that her heart stopped beating at a thousand times per second, started to feel a little bad for yelling.

"Sent," Erik said, looking up and smiling at her. She smiled back and reached into her bag when her phone pinged and announced an incoming text.

"Aren't you going to ask me how my audition went?" Christine asked, flipping her phone open. Erik just smiled mysteriously.

It was a picture message. It probably looked better on Erik's hi-resolution screen, on her own very much not smart phone (her dumb phone?) it was a grainy image of a piece of paper. "What am I looking at?" she asked, glancing up at Erik. He just shrugged. There was an accompanying text, which she scrolled down to read.

**In case you can't read the screen, it's a picture of the call back sheet. Callback #3 for Cosette? Christine Daee. Don't ask how I got this.**

"HOW DID YOU GET THIS?" Christine demanded. Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears and she saw Erik visibly wince.

"I have my ways," he said, smiling at her again. "So, are you stoked? Do I get a victory hug?"

Oh, he SO got a victory hug. Christine dashed around the other side of the car and threw her arms around his waist. Damn it, but he was skinny as hell, wasn't he? Maybe she should have bagged her leftover burgers and given them to Erik. "ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!" she squeed.

"Eh, don't thank me yet, you still have to get through callbacks," Erik said, straightening up and letting her go. "I know two of the other girls, there are three apart from you. One of them, Marisol, graduated from the program four years ago, I don't like her voice, she's really nasal, I don't think she's anything to worry about. Jill has done some stuff locally, she's done a few acting workshops with Memorial so they know her, but Tim's never worked with her like he has with you, so that's an edge. I don't know the last one, her name's Stephanie something, but I can do some Facebook stalking if you want."

Christine shook her head, "No, no, don't do that, that's creepy. I'm just so happy to even be considered, that's enough."

"Oh, you are such a liar," Erik said bluntly. "It's not enough, you wouldn't be a theatre major if being 'considered' was enough. I mean, you're sweet, but don't tell me that's enough."  
>He was right, of course, but who could admit it without sounding like a narcissist? Not Christine, so she didn't even try. "What about everyone else?" she asked. "Did anyone else get a callback?"<p>

Erik nodded. "Yeah, I'll read it to you - um, first, slightly awkward question, could you give me a ride back to the house?"

"Your house? Sure, no problem, did yours fall through?" she asked, opening the passenger side door.

Erik ducked down to squeeze into her car, putting the seat all the way back. "Not...really, I took a bus and missed the last one. Anyway, yeah, callbacks. Raoul's got one for Marius, so does Freddy, I can see it going either way. Sorelli got a callback for Eponine which would be good for her, but not if Raoul is Marius since she'll make him look like a dwarf - actually, so would Marisol, if she got Cosette, she's pretty tall. Might be a battle of the shorties."

Christine giggled and pulled out of the parking spot, "Okay, and what did you get?"

"Oh, a callback for Enjolras, but I won't get it," Erik said dismissively.

"Why not?" she asked, trying to hold a conversation without driving recklessly, which was easier said than done. "I can so see you leading a revolution!"

Erik just smiled and shook his head, "Yeah, my love of explosives is well known. But Enjolras is supposed to be hot and meaty. I am neither of those things."

"Not necessarily," Christine countered. "I saw the touring company last year and Enjolras wasn't meaty, he was really tall and skinny and there's a guy I know who has this, like, amazing voice and could totally rally the people and is even taller and skinnier! He's a total shoe-in."

Erik chuckled and Christine felt momentarily triumphant. He had a really warm laugh, it made her feel kind of special when she got him to laugh. "I'm pretty sure I saw the same guy in Boston, Jeremy Hays? I think he had luscious blonde hair and was super-hot."

"He does have luscious blonde hair," Christine admitted. "But he's not as hot in person as he looks onstage. Promise."

"Oh dear god, child, were you autograph-seeking?"

"No!" she denied, though she had gotten an autograph. She just hadn't sought him out. "My dad was in the pit, I was waiting for him, and Jeremy - "

"Ooh, _Jeremy._First name basis, be still my beating heart."

"Shut up! Anyway, he walked through, said hi and signed my program. He has kind of a weird profile if that makes you feel better."

"Oh, it does," Erik said without an ounce of sincerity. "Really. 'Kind of a weird profile,' he's practically the Elephant Man of Broadway."

Christine rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "You're not..."

"Don't say it," Erik said shaking his head, a laugh underlying his words. "Whatever you say is so far from the truth - "

"Jesus, Erik, just take a compliment!" she said, jerking the steering wheel a little hard to the right as she merged lanes. Gesticulating a little wildly, she added, "Here, I'm giving you a compliment! Take it!"

She was so adorable when she was frustrated, even if her voice got kind of high-pitched and squeaky. It was that, more than anything, that made Erik take a breath and reply, kind of quietly. "Thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me."

"You're welcome," Christine said brightly. They were turning down Erik's street and she slowed the car down as they approached the house. "So, see you at callbacks?"

"Yep, see you at callbacks," Erik got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride, Cosette."

"Don't jinx me!" Christine yelled after him, rolling down the window. "Don't count the chickens and all that stuff."


	7. I Dreamed a Dream

**AN: **And now this sucker is cast! Whew, took us forever, but we're finally here! Good guesses one and all, but you're going to have to read the chapter through to see who's most on the money. (Or skip to the bottom, but there's some plot-stuff in between you might want to look at).

**missawesome1213 - **Isn't she just? Gah, she's like a Furby, a little puffball of happiness that can't make up its mind. I'm so excited that my story is making people like Raoul a little bit. I mean, I wouldn't date him, but he's cute in his own way. And I'm glad you like Freddy! He's one of my personal favorite characters, I need to include more of him. **abby - **Thanks for reviewing it! Christine tries to be as adorable as possible, it's her mission in life.** WhenTheNightIsOver - **Erik totally jumped the gun there, I was thinking, 'Okay, she's going to hug him...' and he popped up and was like, 'No! I DEMAND hugs!' I'm loving the Freddy love right now, I'm going to have to write him in more.

* * *

><p><em>I dreamed a dream in time gone by<em>  
><em>When hope was high and life worth living.<em>  
><em>I dreamed that love would never die<em>  
><em>I dreamed that God would be forgiving.<em>  
><em>- I Dreamed a Dream<em>

"Everyday, I wonder, _every day _who it was, brought me here from the barricade." Freddy got up from the bench he and Christine were perched on, turning his back on her, folding his arms and hunching over in a posture which reminded her inexplicably of Erik.

"Don't think about it, Marius," she replied soothingly, getting up to follow him and running a hand down his arm kind of randomly. It seemed like a wifely, supportive thing to do. Leaning her head on his arm she took a beat before finishing the line, "I will never go away and we'll be together every day. Everyday we'll remember that night and the vows we made."

The brilliance of Shakespeare aside, speaking in rhyme was awkward. Maybe that was why Tim structured callbacks this way, to see if they could bring realism to the lyrics without the assistance of the music. Or maybe Gaspard just wanted a dinner break, either way, she had been sent into the hallway, first with this guy Mike who she didn't know from a hole in the wall, but was very nice and Freddy to run the 'Every Day' scene. She felt it was going a lot better this time around, even if she felt stupid speaking lines that were meant to be sung, at least she was doing it with a friend.

"A heart full of love," she continued and reached up to put a hand over his heart. That was another advantage, feeling physically comfortable with her scene partner made everything easier. "A night full of you." _Wow, that sounds SO dirty_, she realized and tried to keep the blush off her cheeks. Freddy turned and smiled at her, either because he thought it was a good time for the character to come around from being moody or because he was having the exact same thought.

"The words are old, but always true..." Freddy took her hands and kissed her knuckles, again, in a very Erik-like way - _Oh my God, Christine GET INTO THE SCENE! _Even the voice in her head sounded like Erik.

"Dear Ma'moiselle," Freddy said and he stroked her cheek. They were pressed really close together, Christine had unconsciously drawn herself up on tip-toe to get her face closer to his since an extensive study of MGM musicals of the 50s and 60s led her to conclude that when people were really in love they smushed their cheeks together as close as possible. Still left her a few inches short, but she was trying, she'd even put on heels so she wouldn't appear quite as pint-sized as she really was. Her feet were killing her, but since the suffering was for art she tried to ignore it.

Slade cut them off before Valjean's entrance and shuffled his papers as Tim scrawled notes on his clipboard. The atmosphere of the room was marginally less tense than it had been at auditions, but she felt a little timid confronted with the business-like nature of people she had close contact with on a day to day basis. "Nicely done, guys," Tim said, looking up at them over the top of his glasses. "Christine, I'm going to ask you to run 'In My Life' with Geoff, Freddy, Slade's going to give you the sides for 'Red and Black,' I need you to go through that with Robert, he should be waiting for you outside."

Robert was one of two other guys who had gotten the callback for Enjolras with Erik, Christine had spoken very briefly with him earlier. He was average height and build with close-cropped hair and very dark skin, apparently he was a senior at RIC and wanted to get into dance education, which sounded impressive to Christine, in that he had his life plans all laid out. She hadn't recognized the third guy who was named Andrew, but apparently he was one of the BA majors at Memorial with whom they'd exchanged words at _Godspell _auditions. The BAs had very little to say to them, they clustered in their own group while the BFAs stayed in theirs, it was all very awkward.

Andrew was big and brawny, the kind of guy Sorelli went for and she had been eying him earlier, but she caught herself and muttered something about how she would never hook up with, 'one of them.' Christine, wisely, kept her mouth shut, though she thought this feud was getting ridiculous. Honestly, what had the BA people even done to them except for being kind of obnoxious. Weren't they kind of obnoxious in turn? Especially when they were talking about how awesome they all were, that was some ethically questionable stuff right there.

But she didn't have to worry about them right now, instead she walked up to a Geoff, a smiling forty-something with thick brown hair and a beard who just looked _so _Valjean it was insane. He wasn't a regular member of the company at Memorial, but he did do shows there occasionally, mostly he divided his time between Boston and New York, but he knew Tim and Co. in the 80s and jumped at the chance to perform in _Les Mis_. There were a few roles which were already cast, nothing official had been published on the website or submitted to the press, but Erik sent them a text with the names of the pre-cast roles already.

Jean Valjean...Geoffery Arnold  
>Inspector Javert...John V. Riley<br>Fantine...Beverley Walker  
>M. Thernardier...Chester Reyer-Goldman<br>Mme. Thernardier...Madeline Gagnon-Theroux

Meg's mom, Ann, was going to be ensemble and choreographer and there were a few other members of the Memorial company who were getting some of the minor character parts. Erik told Christine he was confident that their little group would be ensemble members, he'd seen Armand listed as Courfeyrac, at least. Just how he came by this information he never managed to say, but it seemed accurate. She did raise a skeptical eyebrow over Chester's role, but Meg reassured her that Chester did act from time to time and had a bachelor's in performance. Tim hired an outside designer for this show, so Chester was free to perform.

Geoff was a large, friendly man who told Christine, once they'd gone through the scene a few times that she was his favorite of the girls he'd worked with so far. He reminded her a little of her dad, so the compliment made her feel really awesome. It never even occurred to her that this might be something he said to all the Cosettes to bolster their confidence.

When she got up to get a drink of water, she overheard Erik and Raoul running through their scene.

"Is this simply a game for rich young boys to play?" Erik was demanding. He sounded exasperated, but his tone shifted as he went on, "The colors of the world are _changing _day by day."

"Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels to be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight," Raoul sounded _so _sincere as he spoke, Christine couldn't help but smile.

"Well, if you don't get in, we'll know this is rigged, just like last time," Christine heard someone whispering. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear she not-so-slyly peeked over to the direction the voice was coming from. It was a leggy blonde girl who she just barely remembered from _Godspell_. Was she the one who called Charlotte fat? Or was it someone else? Her name was Laura, apparently, she was the other girl who was going up for Cosette. Marisol had been sent home already, which Christine assumed was good news for her, but you never knew.

Laura was talking to Andrew, the other Enjolras. Cold water sloshed over Christine's lips undrunk as she tried to calculate how long she could bend over the water fountain without making it obvious that she was dropping eaves. "I don't know, Laure, you weren't here when he auditioned, you didn't hear that kid sing."

"Are you serious? I don't care how good his voice his, he's seriously gross looking."

Christine felt a hot coal of anger burning in her chest. Her face grew warm and she considered stomping over there and bitching the hell out of that girl, then she remembered that she wasn't Charlotte and both of them would probably cause more harm than good anyway. What helped quell her anger to a manageable level was the knowledge that she had very similar thoughts the first time she saw Erik's picture on Facebook. People made stupid assumptions all the time, this girl was not unique and, really, in this instance she was no more judgmental than Christine herself had been.

Andrew shrugged, apparently a little uncomfortable with this whole conversation. "Eh, he's really scrawny, and he could use some Proactiv, but you know, from a distance of ten feet..."

Laura was shaking her head, "I'm telling you, if you don't get in over that creepy looking guy, I'm writing to the administration because this shit is ridiculous."

"This isn't a school show, though - "

"If they cast a bunch of kids from their program over everyone else who auditioned, it's rigged and people should probably know about that before they waste their time on these people."

Christine bit her lip and tried to get her frustration down to a manageable level. Breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Cosette was supposed to be frustrated in her scene with Valjean. Maybe she could use it. She walked by them with as much dignity as she could, shoulders rigid as they stopped speaking the instant she got close to them. There was a text in her phone from Sorelli who wanted to know how everything was going and Christine decided now would be the perfect time to answer it.

**sux. the ba kids r being aholes**

A little bit of her anger ebbed when Sorelli got back to her almost instantly, writing, **well, blow them the fuck away. living well is the best revenge.**

Christine wasn't really sure that was the right cliche to employ in this situation, but she took her friend's words to heart and coasted through the rest of the callback. The BA students were let go before everyone else, she was one of the last to leave. The final scene she was required to perform was 'Every Day' again, but this time her scene partner was Raoul. There was no tip-toeing, he actually wrapped her in his arms and laid his cheek on her head (clearly he watched the same MGM movies as she did) and Christine was able to really exhale and feel like the danger had passed. Even if she didn't get the part, she'd done her best. It was all she could do.

Christine was surprised when, as those performers who remained were allowed to leave, Erik exited the building with her. Usually he managed to stay behind at Memorial after everyone else was dismissed. "Hey," she said, sidling up to him on their way out of the building. "They kicked you out?"

Erik nodded, shooting her a slightly embarrassed look. "Yeah...Tim found my hidey-hole."

"Your what?"

Erik paused, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Heh, um, okay, you know how I get all these picture of things on Tim's computer that I probably shouldn't have?"

Christine nodded, she'd been wondering about Erik's access privileges for weeks now, she assumed he just hacked into Tim's computer or knew the password to his email or something, but hidey-hole sounded a lot more mysterious. And slightly dirty. _OMG, Christine, STOP IT!_

"There's a closet you can get into from the office next to his and I hang out there and wait for him to go on a bathroom break so I can look at his computer files. I got caught yesterday."

"How?" Christine asked, not sure what to make of this revelation. On the one hand, it was a little less illegal than Erik hacking into their professor's computer files, on the other hand...well, it was still awfully sneaky, wasn't it?

"Eh, there's not a lot of elbow room in there and I bashed my elbow on a file cabinet, it made a lot of noise, you get the picture," he said, casting his eyes to the side. Freddy had wandered over to them and had a big grin on his face that led Christine to believe there was more to the story than Erik was letting on.

"He freaked because he saw a rat!" Freddy announced gleefully.

"Aww, that's actually scary!" Christine said, looking between the two of them since, as delighted as Freddy seemed by the whole thing, Erik looked about ready to punch him in the face. "No, seriously, I'd have _screamed_ if it was me."

"Well, me too," Freddy admitted. "But Erik, Lord-Master of the Underworld is supposed to be above such things."

"It was _not_ a normal rat," he groused. "It was some kind of rabid super-rat with glowing red eyes. It wanted me to be its rat-master. I just about escaped with my life."

Christine shuddered involuntarily. She had _no_ tolerance for spiders, bugs, vermin and other things that might skitter across her face in the night. "So, Tim really rescued you," she suggested, trying to shine a light on an utterly terrifying situation.

"'Rescued' is kind of a loaded term," Erik replied thoughtfully. "If by 'rescued,' you mean he opened the door, thereby freeing myself and the rat and yelled at me for spying on him and then screamed at the rat for being unsanitary as it scurried around his office, then yelled at me some more...yes, it was a very thorough rescue."

"So you won't find out about the cast list until the rest of us?" Christine asked, now getting a little amused. It was kind of nice to know that Erik didn't have the answer to everything all the time.

He didn't seem too thrilled about being brought down to the level of a mere mortal. "Basically," he grudgingly admitted. "I have a pretty good idea of what the cast is going to be, though. Or, well, two theories, but I think one is slightly more likely."

"Oooh, do tell!" Freddy exclaimed as they walked toward the cars. Christine had parked a block farther than they had and was happy to have some companionship on the way back to the cars.

"You're not going to like one of them," he warned Freddy. "And I don't need you bitching at my all the way back to Warwick."

"You can bum a ride back to the house with Christine, then," his friend said loftily. "Now dish."

"That's just the problem," Erik sighed. "You won't like one and she won't like the other and then I'm going to have to _walk _home."

"I promise to drive you whether you disappoint me or not," Christine vowed, holding up three fingers as she pledged, like a good little Girl Scout.

Erik hemmed and hawed, but by the time they were at the cars, he revealed his theories. It was, as he maintained earlier to Christine, a battle of the shorties. If Freddy was Marius, Marisol would probably be Cosette and Sorelli would get Eponine. If, however, Christine was Cosette, then he thought it likely that Raoul would play Marius and another one of the Eponines would win the role, probably Cameron, a twenty-four year old Dominican girl who'd graduated from the program at Memorial a few years earlier and was decidedly pixie-like in aspect.

"I thought Christine and I had good chemistry," Freddy whined almost immediately proving Erik's suspicions correct about how he would take the news. "Didn't we have good chemistry?"

Christine shrugged, "I thought so. I don't know, Erik, I think your whole tall people vs. short people thing makes _sense_, but I don't think it'll play out just like that."

Her friend was not to be swayed. "Hey, believe what you want, that's just my theory. I told you that you probably wouldn't like it. So, do I get a ride?"

Freddy heaved a dramatic sigh, "I _guess_. Sorry, Christine, to deprive you of this guy's charming company for the evening."

"That's okay," she said with a smile. "Oh, hey, wait, before you guys go, Erik you never said who would get Enjolras."

Erik was halfway in the car, but he paused and shrugged. "I'm leaning toward that Andrew kid, only because Rob has this youth dance group he's really involved in that eats up a lot of his time and if he was doing this show and that, he'd probably want to kill himself and Tim doesn't need any deaths marring this production."

With that said, the trio bid each other goodnight and drove off toward their respective residences. Christine noticed that she had a missed call from Raoul and the two of them spent an hour on the phone, speculating over the casting situation. Christine told Raoul about Erik's theory and they agreed that it made sense, sure, but seemed a little screwed up. Shouldn't people get in based on merit, not on how tall they were?

Even without his low-tech espionage, Erik did have good instincts. While various people squealed upon getting confirmation phone calls and others plastered smiles of pretend glee for those more fortunate, Erik was not particularly surprised by the outcome. It turned out, when analyzing other actors, his instincts were right on the money. When analyzing himself though, it looked like Christine, of all people, had the greatest insight.

Cosette...Christine Daee  
>Marius Pontmercy...Raoul Chaney<br>Eponine...Cameron Gracia  
>Enjolras...Erik C. Theroux<p>

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><p>AN: And not to leave you guys hanging - Ahmed is Grantaire (and Enjolras understudy), Armand is Courfeyrac, Freddy is Combeferre (and the Marius understudy), Sorelli, Meg, Charlotte and Jamie are in the ensemble.<p> 


	8. Lovely Ladies

**AN: **Okay, I broke my one a week rule, but in my defense, it's the end of the semester and I've been busy. This chapter is a wee bit longer than what I usually post, so I hope that makes it up to you guys! Rehearsals will begin shortly, I thought we needed some calm before the storm.

**WhenTheNightIsOver - **I'm glad you approve of the casting! It's a hazard of hanging out with Erik, you begin to hear him ALL the time. And he was so fated to be Enjolras, it's like it was meant to be. **missawesome1213 - **Your drama sense is right on! And Freddy is understudying for Raoul, there's always the chance he'll get his time to shine...maybe. **Alexis - **Raoul is so sweet and so awkward and he feels the need to share absolutely every thought he has. Erik...has mixed feelings about the Enjolras thing, we'll get to that later. You're absolutely right, the BAs made it into the show and there will be blood. That might be an exaggeration, but you never know with this crew. Hee-hee, Erik's reluctance to become a rat-master is directly related to the Dario Argento _Phantom of the Opera_ film. Trust me, you'll never want to think about Erik and rats together again after that.** Alice'slittlemidgetfriend - **I do have specific ideas for character voices, but my Erik does not sound like Ramin (not to bash Ramin, I heart him like whoa). I'll try to compile a list of comparable performers for the next chapter. And as for E/C...it might take a while. That's all I'm saying. **LadyAutreVita -** I'm excited that you're excited! The first rehearsal is bound to be tense, I just need to get around to writing it.

Keep the reviews coming guys, you give me great inspiration!

* * *

><p><em>Lovely ladies, <em>  
><em>Going for a song.<em>  
><em>Got a lot of callers, <em>  
><em>But they never stay for long.<em>  
><em>-Lovely Ladies<em>

With rehearsals due to start next Tuesday amid a sudden flash of ridiculously warm weather for March, Freddy decided to have a pre-rehearsal Global Warming Party on the beach. His enthusiasm was undaunted even after Erik informed him that climate was not the same as weather and the warm spell might have nothing to do with global warming. "Who cares?" he asked airily as he often did when Erik spouted off some scientific mumbo-jumbo. "The fact remains that we need to have a bash before we're so overworked we want to kill ourselves. It'll be a party we can back to during the long, horrible hours of tech week to remind ourselves, 'This too shall pass.'

Erik really had no use for Freddy's philosophizing. "So it's a pre-suicide party? Well, then we should just make it Jonestown-themed rather than Global Warming-themed. For greater accuracy."

That was the moment when Freddy de-invited Erik from the Facebook event, then realized he didn't know anyone else with mad acoustic-guitar skillz and re-invited him ten minutes later. Erik was not online during the gap between being invited and un-invited, so it didn't matter at all to him.

Everyone else seemed pretty pleased about the prospect of late-winter beach fun and didn't give a hoot about debating the specifics of global warming any more than Freddy did. Most disappointment or hurt feelings over the casting decisions were short-lived once the kids discovered that everyone in the Memorial program was in the show in some capacity. Like Erik said, the sting of being an ensemble member was lessened when an actor could reflect that by being a member of the ensemble they would have the opportunity to be drunks and/or prostitutes and/or revolutionaries and/or poverty-stricken beggars or some delicious combination of the above possibilities. For those who were understudies there was also the remote possibility that the lead might sicken and die during the expected six-week run, thus allowing them the opportunity for stardom (though Freddy was quick to ruffle Raoul's hair when he mentioned this and assure the shorter, blonder boy that he was too cute to kill).

Christine, on the other hand, was not so sure. Lauren Stephens was her understudy, the girl who had been bad-mouthing Erik and complaining about how the production was rigged. After listening to all her whining, Christine was slightly surprised to hear that she accepted the ensemble role and understudy position. Though she'd not seen hide nor hair of her since callbacks, it was mildly bizarre.

"No it isn't," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes when Christine mentioned it to her. "She wants to talk a big game, obvi, but she wants to be in this mess as badly as the rest of us do. I'll bet she's falling all over herself wanting to be besties with you too - just don't drink anything she gives you or share make up. We've all seen _Camp_."

Indeed, Christine had seen _Camp_, but since her life was not a teen movie, she hoped that Char's 'watch your back' predictions would come to nothing. Like she said, clearly Lauren Stephens wanted to be part of the show, maybe they could put their issues aside and all become friends. There were a lot of other kids from the BA program who were cast in the ensemble, including that Andrew guy who had been up for Enjolras. He seemed decent enough, maybe they weren't that bad once you really got to know them.

"So...who's coming to this thing?" Christine asked, holding one of her eyes open as she tried to apply some mascara on the night of the party. She, Sorelli, Meg and Charlotte were all crowded around the bathroom mirror in their dorm, dolling themselves up and trying not to elbow each other in the face as they straightened their hair, evened out their skin and attempted to apply eye make up following the directions on the cardboard backing the aforementioned eye make up was contained in.

"Everyone except Jamie, her mom's having some kind of breakdown and wants her home this weekend," Meg replied, trying to figure out a way of smudging her eyeliner so it would come across as 'smoky' and not 'zombie.'

"Because she's a bitch," Sorelli observed. She was a good eight inches taller than Christine, but even so, she narrowly avoided smacking her tinier friend in the face every time she brought her straightening iron up. "And I think Freddy invited Rachel, Kevin, Nile - "

"Niles?" Christine asked, perplexed. Was that even a name outside of Fraiser?

"Nile," Charlotte corrected her, practically smashing her face against the glass so she could cover a zit effectively. "Like the river. His parents are complete hippies."

"And a bunch of other people you don't know," Meg concluded. Then, realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, "I mean, you will know them, they're cool, they'll like you. It's not like we'll leave you out or anything, that would be hella dick."

It would be hella dick, but despite Meg's protests to the contrary, Christine began to feel a little neglected as she sat in the back of Charlotte's car listening to her friends talk about their other friends. While they weren't necessarily excluding her from the conversation, Christine couldn't exactly participate considering the fact that they were talking about people she'd never met and events that never happened to her.

It was okay, she reminded herself, she'd see Raoul in a little while, they'd make their own memories. The cool evening air was whipping her hair away from her face since Charlotte had the windows down and Christine found herself wishing that she'd brought a warmer sweater; maybe Raoul would offer to give her his jacket or something, that would be romantic.

The party had just barely gotten underway by the time they pulled into the parking lot of Scarborough Beach. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, the beach was not officially open, the bathrooms and snack shack were closed and the lifeguard stands vacant with paint visibly chipping off the legs. Christine was dressed pretty casually, in jeans and her formal flip-flops (yes, formal flip-flops are a thing), a white peasant blouse and the too-thin Target Boyfriend sweater. Charlotte offered her use of her hair dryer in case she wanted to blow out her hair to straighten it, but they were already running a little late and they needed to run to the liquor store so Sorelli could use her fake ID to secure them an industrial-size bottle of vodka.

Cool sand brushed her toes as Christine stepped onto the beach, scanning the shoreline for any sign of Raoul. Freddy and the other guys were lighting a fire (was that legal?), she saw Armand, Erik, Ahmed and a few guys she didn't know, but no boyfriend. As if in answer to her silent inquiries her phone chirruped in her bag.

"Hey," she said, noting with relief that Raoul's face turned up in her caller ID. "Where are you?"

"Hey," Raoul said, his voice really low. "I am SO sorry, I can't come to the party."

Disappointment washed over Christine in a wave, settling in her stomach and making her feel a little sick. "Why not?" she asked, not very sympathetically. Even if he had the flu, why was he calling her now? If he couldn't come, he owed it to her to let her know hours before so she could avoid making small talk with her friends' friends.

Raoul sighed and she could picture him running his hand through his hair. "My brother's home, it was a surprise, he's _supposed_ to be in D.C., but since he's going to Italy for Spring Break, he decided to cut class this afternoon and come home for the weekend. I'm sorry, I'm driving home because my mom is insisting we go out to dinner. She literally called me fifteen minutes ago, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Christine said, just wishing she'd taken her own car.

"No, it's not, I'd rather be with you, Phil's a...well, I'd rather be with you," Raoul said, not masking the disappointment in his own voice. He never talked much about his family, Christine knew he was an uncle (way weird to her way of thinking) and that he was the youngest of four kids and that his brother was in law school, he had a sister named Eloise and one named Lucie, but she could never remember which one had the kid. He didn't talk about his family all that much, sometimes she got the feeling that he didn't really care for them, but never pressed the topic.

"I'd rather be with you too," she said, eying the crowd of kids who were hugging and kissing like it was the first time they'd seen each other in years. "I'll miss you."

"Miss you too," Raoul said. "But have fun, tell everyone I'm s - dammit, my mom's beeping in, I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay," Christine said, overcome with the urge to cry. The line went silent as Raoul beeped over to his mom and she stood there, staring out at the water, feeling a little bit miserable.

"Christine!" Freddy called, jogging over to her on the beach. "Hey, honey, stop being anti-social. Come on, there's underage drinking to attend to." He put an arm around her shoulders and Christine sighed a little, telling herself to lady-up and put on a happy face. "Is Raoul on his way?"

She shook her head, "No, his family's making them have dinner with him."

Freddy pulled a face. "Gross. Well, we'll miss him, but more beer for the rest of us." Christine smiled a little, but she was wary of drinking after what happened in New Hampshire. She'd never had a hangover before that, it was an experience she had no desire to repeat.

Freddy did his best to lift her spirits, he introduced her to the high school friends and Meg thrust a cup of mysterious blue liquid into Christine's hands. It was cloyingly sweet, but also warmed her throat going down. Making a mental note to drink it slowly, Christine smiled and tried valiantly to match names to faces as people caught up and chatted around her. Her scanning eyes finally settled on Erik who was sitting close to the fire, tuning a guitar and smoking a joint.

She sat next to him on the sand and enviously noticed that Erik was wearing a very thick and comfy-looking black and grey striped sweater. She could smell the weed and for one panicky instant, she worried about getting a second-hand high. D.A.R.E. classes taught her that once a person smoked pot, traces of it remained in your system FOREVER thus ruining your chances of getting gainful employment since you would always fail your drug tests. That, combined with a traumatic Seinfeld episode, put her off even poppyseed muffins.

_Grow up, Christine, could you be LESS mature right now?_ At least the voice in her head didn't sound like Erik. This one sounded like Charlotte.

"Hey," she said, tugging her sweater tighter around her waist. The fire was warm and the night itself wasn't that cold, but there was a breeze coming off the ocean.

"Hey yourself," Erik said, alleviating her fears of second-hand smoke by exhaling toward the sea and away from her. "How's it going?"

"I'm okay," she said, taking another sip of her drink. It was cloyingly sweet, but still warmed her throat going down and she wondered just how much vodka Meg put it in. "Raoul totally ditched us." She very nearly said 'me,' but figured that would be too much like whining. Assuming Erik would have limited sympathy for her plight, Christine changed the subject. "So, you play the guitar? And the piano?"

Christine was impressed. "Wow, that's cool," she said. "I only play piano and I basically suck at that."

Erik just shrugged like admitting that he was some kind of music prodigy was no big thing. "I think it just means I had way more free time than you when I was a kid." Removing the joint from his mouth, he held the end toward Christine and said, "Sorry, not trying to Bogart you, want some?"

"Uh...no thanks," she replied, biting her lip. Was Erik going to think she was completely uncool?

Erik didn't even bat an eyelash. "Cool," he said, going back to tuning the guitar. "Any requests?"

"Taylor Swift?" Christine asked slightly wickedly, relieved that Erik didn't mock her for being a clean-lunged loser or something. To her amazement, Erik started plucking the first few chords of 'Back to December.' "You've been holding out on me," she said, shoving him lightly on the arm.

"More like you've been driving me around too much," Erik said. "Not so much that I know the lyrics, though."

Well, color Christine impressed. "You learned the song from listening to it a few times in my car?"

A cute Hispanic guy with an eyebrow ring overheard her and smirked. "Clearly you don't know Erik that well. Kid's a total freak of nature, he can hear a song once and play it back for you no problem. It's kind of a cool party trick."

Despite the cannabis haze that was blissfully settling over him, the comment grated. Erik and Juan had never been friends even though they shared a social circle. Each thought the other was an asshole and each was exactly correct. Rather than pursuing theatre, Juan was going for an art history degree at Brown. He'd grown a soul patch some time over the past eight months and apparently thought he was an intellectual. "Right," Erik said after a long, tense moment of silence. "Cool party trick."

"S'mores!" Freddy interjected with more excitement than such an announcement called for. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife and he wanted to have a nice, drama-free party before the inevitable drama of rehearsal kicked in and he did not need this right now. Luckily, roasting marshmallows over an open flame required a great deal of concentration when the individuals who were doing so were well on their way to getting sloshed.

"This is so awesome," Charlotte said, rotating her marshmallow constantly in an effort to get a perfectly golden brown crust. "I haven't had s'mores in since forever - oh my god, Armand could you suck at this any more?"

The thin, dark-haired boy shrugged. "I like them burned," he said, casually blowing out the flame on the blackened end of his stick which resembled a lump of coal more than it did fluffy deliciousness.

Christine shook her head and added some Girl Scout wisdom, "You can't just catch them on fire right away, then the inside is still...raw."

"S'more connoisseur, huh?" a girl whose name she did not remember asked her with a wink. Rachel, maybe?

Christine nodded, popping her marshmallow between her pre-prepared graham crackers and chocolate, "Totally. You know what's really good on s'mores? Nutella. It's god-like."

Freddy swatted at her arm and looked incredibly affronted, "Christine," he whined. "Why didn't you TELL me you were such a party planner? Next shindig I throw, you're so helping me out."

"This is a shindig?" Erik asked, nibbling at a piece of chocolate. "I thought it was a hootenanny."

"This is a hootenanny," Freddy replied loftily. "And my God, man, eat a s'more. You need the calories."

"Want me to roast your marshmallow?" Christine offered sweetly. Even though she'd vowed not to get drunk tonight, she was already halfway there after one of Meg's cocktails. "Not to brag, but I'm pretty great at it."

Juan snorted loudly, as though Christine said something particularly hilarious. "Wow, you want her to 'roast your marshmallow,' Erik? Since when have you been batting for the other team?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively up and down prompting Erik to rise abruptly.

"I'm taking a walk," he said, taking the guitar with him and walking down the beach at a fair clip.

"Aww, come back!" Freddy called after him, frowning and fixing Juan with an unhappy stare. "Did you have to? Really? Did you?"

Juan shrugged, apparently a little uncomfortable with the turn his teasing had taken. "I didn't know he was going to spaz, you'd think the guy would be over it. Like, Jesus, he needs to chill out."

Christine was looking between the group and Erik's retreating back, feeling like she was at a total loss. It was a little like being left out of an inside joke, but this was not a laughing matter. "What just happened?" she asked, looking into the faces assembled around the fire. Half looked as confused as she felt and the rest just looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Uh, well Erik - " Juan began, but Ahmed interrupted him.

"Shut up." It was unusual to see Ahmed angry, but he was leveling Juan with a death-glare that would rival Erik on his worst days. "You just keep your damn mouth shut, understand? It's not your fucking business." Depositing a bottle of beer in the sand, he got to his feet, intending to chase after Erik, but Christine beat him to it.

"No, no, I'll go," she said, not sure why she was volunteering to take Erik duty, but Ahmed seemed so mad that she wasn't sure whether he would be good at soothing the savage beast. They'd probably just yell and smoke more pot and Christine decided to fix the problem in a more wholesome way.

Quickly assembling a s'more with her own perfectly toasted marshmallow, Christine jogged down the beach until she caught up with Erik - no mean feat since he could cover an awful lot of ground with those beanstalk legs of his. "Hey," she said, slightly breathlessly. "I brought you a s'more."

Erik honestly considered just running away from Christine as she approached him. Stressful situations really activated his fight or flight instincts and since the last time fighting got him in a world of trouble, fleeing seemed like the best possible alternative. But it was Christine. How could he run away from Christine? Especially when she was offering him a snack, it seemed cruel to leave her there standing in the sand with a rapidly chilling s'more.

"Thanks," he said, reaching out to take the offered treat. Sighing heavily, he took a bite and had to admit that her marshmallow-toasting skills had not been exaggerated.

"So what - " Christine began at the same time as Erik said, "Can we not talk about it?"

Christine paused momentarily. There was so much about Erik that she was clueless about, but she figured pushing him to have a heart-to-heart would make him clam up further. "Okay," she said, tugging her sweater around her shoulders to ward off the chill. It was less than effective. "We can walk. Keep the blood flowing."

"Are you cold?" Erik asked, belatedly noticing that she was not dressed to accommodate the breeze coming off the ocean. Sometimes being considerate of others was the way to take the pressure off oneself. Compassion could have its uses.

"A little," she admitted, with a shrug. "I wanted to look cute, for my boyfriend and he's not even here. Oh, no, you don't have to - " But Erik was already shrugging out of his own sweater.

"I'm not that cold," he said more or less truthfully. Beneath the sweater he was wearing a long-sleeved black thermal shirt. Christine kind of wanted to know what his closet looked like, was it just six pairs of black jeans and dozens of black thermal shirts? Or did he only own, like, three articles of clothing that he cycled through a few times a week? Did he have to stop in specialty stores because he was, like, unnecessarily tall? Just more of the many mysteries of Erik's life that she had yet to uncover.

Christine shrugged into Erik's sweater, automatically shoving the sleeves up her arms because they dangled over her fingertips otherwise. Erik inclined his head toward a playground a few dozen yards distant from them and said, "Come on, I still owe you a song."

"Taylor Swift?" she asked, skipping along beside him and sitting on a swing. Erik perched himself on the bottom of a slide and shook his head with a smile.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head mysteriously. "I don't think you know this one."

Indeed, she did not. The song was a little folksy, reminiscent of Bob Dylan or Donovan. Erik sounded different than he did when singing selections from musicals, his voice was a little less...booming, for lack of a better word. No less beautiful, but maybe a little less refined. More casual. The lyrics were kind of dark, though. The song seemed to be about a guy who was hopelessly in love with a girl who may or may not know he existed and how he'd do anything for her. The chorus was especially affecting.

_"And to glimpse the face that launched a thousand ships / I'd fight my way through hell with your name upon my lips / I'll sell my soul for the chance to reach you / I sold my soul; I'll bet you never knew."_

"That was a great song," Christine said honestly when he was done. "Who wrote it?"

"He prefers to remain anonymous," Erik said with a strange smile on his lips. "You really liked it?"

"Oh, yeah," she nodded. "It was really really cool, is it, like, one of those YouTube musicians? A lot of them are really good."

"He's been known to dabble in the YouTube, yes - oh, hey, peanut gallery," Erik said, nodding up the beach. Some of their friends had broken away from the larger party and were stumbling and jogging through the sand toward the playground.

"Monkey bars!" Meg exclaimed with delight. "I am a BEAST on the moneybars!"

Freddy and Ahmed were racing for the slide and the quiet of the night was punctuated with semi-drunken shouting and laughter. Erik stood up so his friends could get down the slide and sat down on a swing next to Christine, aimlessly plucking out a few chords on the guitar. "Well, that was nice while it lasted," he commented with a sly smile.

Freddy jumped off the slide and gave Christine a good hearty push on the swing. "C'mon sweetie, let's not mope about the no-show boyfriend, you need to have a drink and have some fun."

Christine grinned at Freddy and pumped her legs to go a little higher. "Totally," she said with a confident smile. "I'm ready for fun, I'm totally over it."

That night as she stumbled into bed, heedless of the grains of sand she was getting all over her sheets, she'd drift off with the echoes of the song Erik played for her repeating in her head. She forgot most of the lyrics except the last line of the refrain.

_I sold my soul; I'll bet you never knew._


	9. The Runaway Cart

**AN: **We're getting down to business! For anyone who is curious about who I imagine these kids sounding like, here's a quick list of comparable singers for characters: Christine has a voice very similar to Barbara Cook, who if you haven't listened to her, oh my GOD, what a voice. Erik...is slightly indescribable, but for the most part I hear a combination of Ian Jon Bourg (a German Phantom), Jeremy Hays (25th Anniversary Touring Company Enjolras) and Steve Barton (the original Raoul - nope, not kidding, the man had a BEAUTIFUL voice). Raoul is Raúl Esparza, Charlotte is Sierra Boggess, Freddy is Douglas Sills, Sorelli is Linda Eder, Beverley is very Audra MacDonald and Maddy is Marin Mazzie. They're the only ones I have a clear person for and my little list doesn't match with your own ideas for character voices, feel free to ignore me ;-)

**Orestes Fallen - **Love the new name! Heh, I do love Christine's inner monologue myself. Erik did, in fact, write that song for Christine, but he's not telling her because he's pretty sure she'd think he was creepy/dweeby. He's so insecure, the poor lamb. **missawesome1213 - **I did write the lyrics, I'm glad you liked them! The love interest is more or less original and not really based on Luciana from the Kay version, though as you've no doubt guessed, the relationship ended similarly horribly. **Alexis - **It's going to be DRAMATIC, I'll tell you that. You can absolutely ask anything you want and yes, Hellspawn is male. Bad relationships know no gender boundaries! And that movie is hilariously bad, I highly recommend the multi-part Phantom Review on YouTube (all the reviews are funny, but the Dario Argento review is the longest, it saves you having to watch the movie). Thanks! I just finished up with school yesterday, so I now how tons of time for writing! **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack** - Thanks for the 'Company' review! I hope you're still reading and you managed to find Part 2 okay!

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><p><em>Is there anyone here who will rescue the man?<em>  
><em>Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart?<em>  
><em>-The Runaway Cart<em>

First rehearsal came on the tail end of the freakishly gorgeous late-winter weather. It was cold and damp as the crowds of performers hustled into Memorial's largest rehearsal room - and there were not enough chairs for everyone.

Tim was sure his hairline was creeping ever farther back on his head from the number of times he'd dragged his hand through his hair in frustration that day. The scripts and music had only just arrived two hours ago, he had Erik run to Kinko's to make (illegal) copies for the understudies. It was his penance for listening behind locked doors like a bad Shakespeare character. Tim could not believe the nerve of that kid and Chester attempting to quell his ire by commenting that he'd be a permanent resident of that crawlspace had he known it existed was not even a little helpful.

The cast slowly trickled into the rehearsal space, members of the resident acting company lingering outside the doors taking their sweet time (as usual). Most of the ensemble and outside actors settled in fairly quickly, though the students, noticing that there was a paucity of chairs for the grown-up actors relocated to the floor, as unobtrusively as possible. Bless their little hearts.

When everyone was settled, Tim launched into the usual spiel about how pleased he was for everyone to be there and how this was going to be such a Rewarding Experience and Challenging Creative Endeavor, blah blah blah. He felt like he was on autopilot and was pleased when Slade took over, handing out scripts and forcing people to introduce themselves.

"Hi," Maddy said, all smiles and perfectly blown out hair. She managed to bring style to any and all stressful situations, it was one of her most stirling qualities. "I'm Madeline, call me Maddy, I'll be playing Madame Thernardier and I'm hoping Tim, that you don't want me to gain fifty pounds in five weeks. Because that's not happening."

Everyone chuckled, trust Maddy to break the ice by making the conversation all about her appearance. Chester got an even bigger laugh when, after introducing himself, he added, "And I'm not costuming this 'ness, so if you all have issues, don't come crying to me."

The resident acting company likewise continued down the line. The BA kids from St. Mary's snagged seats, so they got their intros out before the BFAs who were mostly sitting on the floor.

"I'm Lauren, I'm understudying for Cosette. And I'm in the Ensemble," she added, eyes darting around as she spoke, but never actually settling on anyone in particular. Tim had the impression that she was looking for Christine who was pretty well hidden in front with Raoul and Freddy on either side of her.

When Christine got around to introducing herself, Tim indicated that she should stand to be seen. That girl probably had no idea how much she influenced the casting, she was an absolutely perfect Cosette and though he would have personally rather cast Freddy as Marius, he had to keep sight lines and levels in mind and he was just too tall to pair opposite Christine and if he was going to cast Raoul as Marius for height reasons, then Sorelli would not have worked as Eponine.

"Hi," she said with a nervous smile, waving at the rest of the cast. "I'm Christine, I'm playing Cosette, I'm, um, really excited to work with all of you."

"Aww," Cam, the girl who won the role of Eponine once Sorelli was booted from the cast list, responded. "You're just the cutest thing."

Christine blushed and sat back down as the rest of her classmates introduced themselves. Erik, as ever, managed to be the last person in the line-up and he just sat up straighter, looked around and said, "I'm Erik." As though he needed no further introduction.

For most of the cast, he did not, but Lauren nudged her friend Andrew and hissed, "I told you!" under her breath. What she had told him she did not elaborate on and Tim had no desire to stir up this petty rivalry on the first day of rehearsal.

"Okay," he said, clapping his hands to bring attention back to him. "Well, it's great to have you all here together, David Lee, our set designer is here and he'd like a few minutes to show you what we have in the works for the set."

David was a short, pleasant man in his mid-60s who Tim had never seen dressed in anything other than jeans, a button down shirt, a tweed jacket and bow tie. He brought out the set plan, as usual rendered in stiff white foam and he laid a few of his sketches and colored illustrations to help the cast visualize what it would look like when it was done. The cast came forward in groups, most murmuring polite praise over the design, until Maddy and Chester got a look at it.

"Is that a turntable?" Chester asked, raising his eyebrows.

"It is a turntable," David said, nodding and spinning the model so Chester could see what it looked like from the back.

Maddy made a face. "Do we have to? Isn't it a cliche?"

Tim was beginning to feel the need to separate them. Like disruptive Kindergarteners. "Believe me, we talked about this in production meetings. The transitions don't work without the turntable."

"The touring company didn't have a turntable," Beverley pointed out.

"And the transitions were not smooth," David pointed out, holding up a hand to forestall any protest. "There were some serious problems with that production."

"Uh, yeah, quick question," John asked. "Am I getting strung up and flown out Peter Pan style when I die?"

"No," Tim and David replied in chorus.

"God, no," David said.

"Oh, I thought that was cool," Armand said from the floor.

"You're confused, it was stupid," Charlotte corrected him.

"It was _different_," Tim said diplomatically, effectively cutting off the discussion. "There will be no wire works, but the stage will spin." Glancing at his watch, he said, "How about everybody take a ten and we'll reconvene for a read-through."

Half of the assembled cast split off, the other half remaining behind to argue either for or against the inclusion of a turntable in the production. The students knew their opinions counted for less than nothing so most of them made a beeline for the lobby to smoke or get a drink from the bubblers.

"It's just so...done. It's been done and it's gimicky," Meg complained, unwrapping a granola bar.

"But it's a gimick people expect," Armand replied sedately. "And the way is structured, it works, it's like trying to mount _Sweeney Todd_ without the barber chair."

"It is not like that at all and you know it," Ahmed retorted, rolling his eyes.

"It's going to break," Erik predicted gloomily, shaking his head. "It's going to break, in the middle of the show, probably on opening night."

"You are such a Debbie Downer, it's unbelievable," Freddy shook his head, giving Erik a shove on the arm.

"I'm not a Debbie Downer, I'm a Rodney Realist," Erik countered. "Those things never work, we had one in _Ragtime_ and it broke. Constantly, it couldn't handle the weight of the cast."

"So, now they'll know better and that won't happen," Freddy sighed. "I mean, come on, what did George Bush say? 'Fool me once...'"

"Don't make me go there," Erik said warningly. "Don't make me go there. Because I will go there and this is not the venue."

Christine wisely wandered away before the discussion turned political and went to fill her water bottle. Bathroom water was the same as kitchen water, right? When she entered the bathroom, she saw three of the BA girls from the Ensemble were already in there and she smiled at them as she entered.

"Hey," she said, hoping they'd just sort of...forget the whole Godspell thing. No one had been at their best that night. They seemed willing to make the effort, they said 'Hey,' back and sort of nodded at her. "So..." Christine started, trying to keep the conversation going so she didn't have to fill her water bottle in awkward silence. "Turntables, huh?"

Lauren, her understudy gave Christine a long look and said, "Can I ask you something? It's kind of a weird question."

"Oh, sure!" Christine said, assuming it would have something to do with the dangers of bathroom germs, maybe she wanted to offer her well-meaning advice about where she could could get a refill of water that wouldn't be teeming with swine flu.

"That Erik guy...who is he related to?"

Okay, yeah, that was a weird question, but Christine didn't see any harm in answering. "Oh, his mom is playing Mrs. Thernardier and his dad is the lighting designer."

Lauren smiled smugly and turned to her friends, "I told you he was related to someone - isn't that just awful?"

Christine wasn't sure what she meant. "Uh, I haven't really spoken to them much. They seem nice - "

A tall, long-limbed African American girl whose name was...Delilah or Delia or something shook her head. "No, it's not that, it's not fair that people get parts around here based on nepotism, but that's all theatre, so there you go."

Cold water was running out of the neck of her bottle and over her hands, prompting Christine to turn off the tap hastily. "No, no, that's not it at all," she said quickly. "Erik's really, really talented, like, he has the most amazing voice. He didn't even think he was going to get a real - uh, sorry, sorry, a character with a name, oh my God, I just sounded like such a bitch."

Delilah/Delia smiled and said, "Oh, no, you're fine - I mean, at least your mom isn't costume designer or something, right?"

"Nope," Christine said. "My mom's dead." And she beat a hasty retreat from the bathroom, practically plowing into Meg on her way out. Sometimes playing the 'dead mom' card was a perfect way out of awkward situations. Just raise the awkwardness bar to such a level that no one can top you and run.

"What's up?" her roomie asked, giving her a worried once-over. "You look pissed."

Did she? Christine tried to smooth her ruffled expression as she looked around to see if Erik could overhear them. "There were some BA girls in there - Lauren, the one who's understudying for me and her friends, I guess. They said Erik only got into the show because his parents, I don't know, bribed Tim or whatever."

Meg made a disgusted face. "Oh, that is such bullshit. Who was it? I will bitch them the fuck out."

"No, don't," Christine said hastily. "Come on, we don't need the drama, right?"

Meg was frowning and folded her arms across her chest. "We don't _need_ the drama, but I have no problem bringing the drama if they're going to be difficult."

"No, Meg, really," Christine whispered, tugging her away from the door as the BA girls made their way back to the rehearsal space. "They'll get it on their own, as soon as they hear him sing, they'll get it."

But they didn't get the chance to hear Erik sing that night. Gaspard, the musical director, was out and their first vocal rehearsal was being held the following day with leads and ensemble meeting separately. Dammit.

"Are you okay?" Raoul nudged her on the way out. "You seem kinda stressed. Are you...mad at me?"

Christine was so startled by the question that it took her a second to respond. "Huh? For what?"

Raoul blushed a little and shrugged, "You know, for ditching out on the party. I am really sorry, dinner sucked, I'd much rather have been with you."

"Oh, Raoul," Christine said sympathetically. "Oh, God, no, I was so over that, like, ten minutes later - not that I didn't wish you were there, but I had fun, their friends were fine. Okay, well, one guy, Juan was kind of a jerk, but other than that, it was okay. I'm sorry your family dinner didn't go well."

"It went fine," her boyfriend said bitterly. It was a tone Christine had never heard from him before and she was mildly taken aback. "Phil spent two hours talking about how great he is. Pretty standard for my family."

"I'm...sorry," she said. As an only child she did not understand sibling rivalry.

Raoul let out a sigh and shook his head. "It's...it's what it is. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be venting on you like this, it's just been a long weekend."

Christine threaded an arm around his waist and smiled at him. "That's okay, vent. I'm your girlfriend, it's what I'm here for."

Raoul kissed her just outside the doors of the lobby. "You're so awesome," he said. "So, you're not mad at me?"

"No, it's not you at all," Christine said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Some girls were being mean about Erik - okay, now that I think about it's totally stupid. He's not, like, five, right? He's a big boy, he can stick up for himself."

"I guess, but it's nice that you care," Raoul said diplomatically. "Charlotte can handle herself and remember when I freaked out on that girl who called her fat?"

Christine didn't really remember any 'freaking out,' she remembered more 'indignant squeaking,' but decided to leave Raoul's faulty memories intact. "Yeah, you've a little hero complex. It's cute."

"It's better than having a little villain complex," Raoul replied, smiling.

"I think that's just a Napoleon Complex," Christine countered wittily.

"Ooh, burn," Raoul said, opening the passenger side door so he could drive Christine back to her dorm. "I think this is going to be fun, do you think this is going to be fun?"

"Sure," she said brightly, the earlier bathroom drama largely forgotten. "What's the worst that could happen?" Since she'd already pulled out her deceased parent trump card, it wasn't really something you could play twice with the same group of people and expect the same quality of results.


	10. Who Am I?

**AN: **Hey gang, I'm a little worried that rehearsal chapters can get...oh, shall we say, a little boring? I'm going to try to keep them to a minimum, but if you could leave me a comment, let me know what you think? I tend to prefer chapters where people are either having insane drama or just sitting around chatting aimlessly, so that's my bias. Rehearsal chapters tend to be more low-key because everyone has to at least pretend to be professional and get their work done. So, what do you think about rehearsal chapters? Like, hate, indifferent?

**GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **Oh, hey, that's okay! I just wanted to make sure you found this story and didn't think I left it off with Erik crying in a basement ;-) And relaxing after finals is of the utmost importance, get down with your bad self! Erik is VERY grateful for the advice, by the way, he fully intends on taking it as soon as he has time to run to CVS for soap. Every little bit helps. **Alexis - **Thank you! Heh, they weren't really being all that sweet, they just knew they'd get booted out of their chairs if they sat in real chairs, so it was really for self-preservation. I'm crossing my fingers for Christine too ;-) Oh, no, the Hellspawn is not like Christine in the least little bit, that's part of the reason why Erik is hung up on her (and why Ahmed was encouraging the relationship), she's such a good girl, very different from He Who Must Not Be Named. Thank you for the congratulations, sometimes I think grad school will never end.

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><p><em>Who am I? <em>  
><em>Can I condemn this man to slavery?<em>  
><em>Pretend I do not feel his agony?<em>  
><em>-Who Am I?<em>

A few hours before their next vocal rehearsal Erik was at the house he shared with Ahmed and Freddy, relaxing at the piano, passing the time by writing ridiculously self-indulgent Doctor Who fanmusic.

"_Don't you ask Who am I / Doctor, madman, Time Lord, thief / Take a chance, say good-bye, fly away with me._"

He'd felt very inspired recently, though he could not pinpoint its exact source. He'd just been in an inexplicably good mood for the last few weeks. Christine, with her baby blues and long blonde hair put him in a very late '60s/early '70s folk mindset and after he wrote that little Faustian ditty about her he hadn't been able to go ten minutes without a melody line floating through his brain and lyrics writing themselves in the margins of his second semester Latin notes. Some people might find musical ADHD to be annoying, but Erik hadn't written anything he genuinely liked or thought was playable for an audience in months and he was pleased to have his groove back.

Granted, Christine did not know the little Faustian ditty was for her, so it wasn't as though he was getting praise for his work. He could have told her when she asked, but he knew he wasn't going to take credit even before he decided to play the song for her. In the first place, it would probably make her uncomfortable since she had a boyfriend whom she wore impractical clothing for and in the second...well, in the 21st century, telling a girl you wrote a song for her is slightly weird if her name isn't Delilah and you aren't a member of the Plain White T's.

Maybe it was the pleasure of being cast in the show that had him feeling so much at peace with the world these days. Maybe it was pleasure over the coming of spring, but he hoped not. Erik liked to think that his was a special brand of crazy which was not affected by the weather like everyone else's more mundane varieties of depression. In all likelihood, though, he was just on a good cocktail of drugs at the moment and if that was the case, he would enjoy it while it lasted.

Things weren't actually going horribly. Despite his concerns, the turntable was being built - of course, this meant no one could get out on stage while they were blocking the first act, but they were doing as well as they could given the limited space. Erik actually did not have that much to do, he was one of the prisoners in the opening of the show and was going to get his drunk on during "Master of the House," but they weren't that far into the blocking yet.

_Things are going too well_, his cynical side pointed out. _It's just a matter of time before catastrophe._

Hmm. Catastrophe. That was a good word, he should work it into the song. What rhymes with 'catastrophe'?

His phone buzzed across the room on the coffee table where he'd dumped his backpack after he'd gotten in. Leaving his musical efforts for a minute (the only word he'd come up with was 'atrophy,' which sucked), he checked the caller ID and was surprised to see Gaspard's name.

"Hey," he greeted his music teacher. "Did I miss a lesson? I thought we were on break until after the show."

"Hey, buddy," Gaspard replied, his voice a little faint. Erik's heart rate immediately picked up. He knew whatever his teacher was calling with was probably bad news. People had a tendency to call him 'buddy' when they were trying to placate him. "I have a favor to ask - could you run vocal rehearsal tonight?"

"Why?" Erik demanded immediately, his voice taking on an edge of worry. "Are you dying? You're dying, aren't you?"

Gaspard chuckled wheezily. "Nope, you can't have my job yet. I've got the flu, it's not a big deal, honestly, but I just want to make sure - "

"Didn't you get vaccinated? You're supposed to get vaccinated, did it not work? Did you go for the nasal stuff?" Erik asked, his voice jumping up in pitch against his will. That was one of the problems with his voice, it was very expressive when he least wanted it to be. Especially when he was upset and the news that his music teacher, one of his favorite people in the world (who also happened to be HIV-positive) was skipping work because he felt unwell was enough to jolt him from an Erik at peace with the world to an Erik on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Perhaps, as someone with a chronic condition, he ought to be more sympathetic about how annoying it was to receive unsolicited medical advice, but he didn't care right now when Gaspard was dying.

"Wow. You know, I never thought about getting vaccinated," Gaspard said and Erik wasn't so panicked that he didn't recognize the sarcasm. "Thanks for telling me, I'll look into that - no, seriously, I am okay, I'm taking some time off so that I don't get pneumonia or something horrible. Unless you can't cover rehearsal, in which case, I'll put my life on the line and drag my immune-supressed behind to Memorial - "

"I'll go, I'll go," Erik interrupted hastily. "Stay home, drink orange juice, do you have orange juice? I can bring you orange juice."

"I have orange juice," his teacher confirmed. "Do you have a ride to the theatre?"

"I'll get one," Erik replied. "Get off the phone. Make yourself a bowl of soup and watch _Dancing with the Stars_ or something mindless. Let me know if I need to start planning your funeral."

"I'll keep you posted," Gaspard said with a smile in his voice. "Don't work 'em too hard tonight, thanks, Erik, I owe you one."

Indeed he did. Erik hung up and decided to focus on getting his ass to Memorial. Freddy and Ahmed's cars were either on campus or at their jobs, Erik could probably ride his bike to the library and steal Ahmed's car, but then Ahmed wouldn't have a ride home and he didn't bike on public streets. Freddy needed to be at rehearsal because he had to be there since he was understudying for Raoul, but by the time he got out of work and picked Erik up, they'd both be late. It was time to start an emergency phone tree.

At times like these Erik really lamented the fact that he didn't have a car. For the first fourteen years of his life, no one in his family owned a car, they lived in the city, he took the bus to school and his parents took buses or trains to get where they needed to go. Then they moved to the 'burbs and his mother bought a car that spent a lot of time in and out of the shop because it was a piece of crap and his dad had a truck. Erik had a license, but no car because they couldn't afford it and his impulse control issues led to really bad road rage...yeah, insurance liability, basically.

Normally it wasn't a problem. He could borrow one of the cars, bum a ride off a friend, take the bus, ride his bike, but on days like this when he had no time to plan, it could be a pain in the ass. Luckily, he had a few generous friends.

"Hi, Erik!" Christine said cheerfully when he rang her up. "What's up?"

"What are you doing right now?"

"Homework, why?"

"Can you give me a ride to Memorial? I need to run vocal rehearsals, Gaspard's not feeling well."

"Oh, that sucks, is he okay? Sorry, dumb question, of course he's not. Uh, sure, I can give you a ride, is it cool if I come and get you now? I need to pick Raoul up, his car's getting something done to it and I need to drive him in too."

Erik agreed that would be fine which was how he found himself in an impromptu sing-a-long to Salt n' Peppa's "Shoop" while he and Christine sat outside Raoul's building waiting for him to emerge for rehearsal.

"I'm going to assume you know this song because of Ellen Degeneres, right?" Erik asked when they were done.

"Yeah," Christine admitted with a shrug. "I've been on a total '90s kick lately though. I think I want to have a theme party."

"That means you've been spending too much time around Freddy," Erik said as Raoul bolted out of class, running for the door and stopping short next to the passenger side door. Erik rolled the window down and gestured to the back seat. "Shotgun, no blitz. I don't do backseats."

Raoul's eyes lingered for a moment on Erik's knees squished up against the dashboard and he did the polite thing and went around to the back. "I guess being a giant isn't all great," he said as he slid in behind Christine, tossing his backpack on the seat next to him.

Erik shook his head, "It's a pain, I have the worst genes ever. Do you know how hard it is for me to find pants that fit?"

"Do you know how hard it is for me to find pants that fit?" Christine asked, pulling out of the parking lot and shaking her head. "Not only does The Gap only stock jeans for freakishly tall people, they expect the freakishly tall people to wear heels. I can't win."

"So, where do you buy your jeans?" Raoul asked, apparently genuinely interested.

"The Gap," Christine replied. "I just have to get them tailored."

"You get your jeans tailored?" Erik asked her incredulously. "Seriously? I just shop online, it's easier."

"Oh God, no, I never buy online," Christine said with a shudder. "It's bad enough trying things on in a store that don't fit, but ordering something online and having it not fit? It's traumatic because you can't just throw it back on a rack and be like, 'Better luck next time!' no, you have to look at it, or, like, the box it's from until you can mail it back. And you're overcome with a sense of failure the whole time."

After a moment of contemplative silence, Erik gave Christine a searching look and said, "So...you've thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

Rolling her eyes, Christine sighed and merged onto the highway. "I don't think you'll get it, you're a boy. Boys don't care about clothes the way girls do."

"Not true, we just don't talk about it. Right, Raoul?"

"Uh..." Raoul wasn't sure he was the person best suited to talk about clothing. Usually his mom or his sisters dragged him to the mall when he needed new clothes and he assumed they knew what they were talking about. But how stupid would it sound to say that he was nineteen years old and his mom picked his clothes out for him? "I don't talk about it."

"Oh, come on, Erik," Christine protested. "You own, like, three outfits. Black shirt, black jeans, sweater, white shirt, vest. Lather, rinse, repeat."

"Because I look like shit in clothes," he pointed out. "There are about three things that look semi-decent on me, so that's what I wear."

"You look fine," she said, but understood that prolonged conversations on Erik's appearance were best avoided, so she quickly changed the subject. "Hey, could you tell me what band did that song you played for me on the beach? I want to burn it, but I googled some of the lyrics and nothing came up. Are they on iTunes? Or just YouTube?"

"What song?" Raoul asked. He was not a jealous guy, but the idea of Erik playing music for Christine on a moonlit beach was making him wish he'd blown off his family in earnest that night.

"Erik played this cool folk song the other night, at the Global Warming Party, it was awesome, but now I can't find it."

"It's not a band, it's just one guy," Erik said smoothly. Though he might not be able to hide his emotions in moments of stress, if it wasn't a life or death situation he could be a pretty excellent liar. The trick was keeping the lies as close to the truth as possible. "Um, it was on YouTube a while back, I just memorized it. I can just record it and burn you a copy."

"Alright, that's cool," she agreed. "Your voice is probably better than his anyway."

"Aww, you flatter me, mam'selle," Erik said, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly.

The chill atmosphere of the ride over was cut short when he arrived in the rehearsal space. Tonight they were working the duets between Cosette and Marius and the songs from ABC Cafe, so it was a very young group gathered together in rehearsal room B.

"Where's Gaspard?" Freddy asked when he walked in and saw Erik sitting behind the piano sorting through sheet music.

"Sick," Erik said, then cut Freddy off when he saw all the color slide from his face. "I mean, he'll be fine, he's just not feeling so hot, so you little darlings have me to be your taskmaster."

"Joy," Freddy said, setting a cafe mocha on the top of the piano. "This is Gaspard's, now it's yours."

The prospect of caffeine and chocolate did make Erik feel a little better when the BAs came in as a group and stopped short when they saw Erik instead of their shaven-headed, olive-skinned musical director.

"What's going on?" Andrew asked curiously.

Erik was beginning to get a little tired of explaining the situation. "Gaspard's not feeling well, so I'm running rehearsal."

"Are you kidding me?" Lauren asked incredulously. "This is ridiculous, if he's sick, why not cancel rehearsal?"

"Uh, maybe because this show is going up in two months which is not a lot of time?" Ahmed suggested, his voice taking on an irritated edge.

"They couldn't get anyone other than _him_?" she asked Ahmed, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder as she gestured at Erik.

"You don't have to stay," Erik pointed out reasonably. "You can go, I'm sure we can find another understudy, it's early yet. Charlotte has a great memory and her vocal range is spot-on for the role - "

"Don't even," Lauren said, raising a warning finger.

"Laure, we've alked-tay about the inger-fay," Andrew muttered quietly, gently tugging her toward a chair. She seemed a little deflated by his comment, but glared daggers at Erik.

Aside from that first little tiff to open the evening, the rest of rehearsal went well. Erik ran the numbers for ABC Cafe first so the majority of the group wouldn't have to stay for the duets. Christine took the opportunity to work on homework and Lauren spent her time rapidly texting - until she heard Erik sing his part as he played. The phone actually fell from her limp fingers and onto the floor. Lauren swore quietly and picked it up, frowning at the screen which was clearly cracked. Christine glanced at her and smiled triumphantly to herself before going back to her homework. That'd show her.

"How drunk do you think I should be?" Ahmed asked Erik during a break from 'Red and Black.'

"Eh, drunk enough that people know you're drunk and not just a crazy person - you are going to have a wine bottle on you - but not so drunk that we lose the melody," Erik recommended.

"Can I ask a kind of stupid question?" Raoul piped up, actually raising his hand.

"Go ahead," Erik said, smirking a little.

"Why does Grantaire say Don Juan like that?"

"Because he's a drunk," Armand replied, shrugging and making notations in his script.

"No, actually, it's because he's referring to the Byron poem," Ahmed corrected him.

"No," Freddy said, shaking his head. "I've heard that, but I think that's too much of a stretch. I think he's just a drunk."

"Hey, it's my character," Ahmed replied defensively. "He's referencing the Byron poem if I want him referencing the Byron poem. He's a_ smart_ drunk. Anyway, it's funnier that way."

"Dude, I don't have an issue with you saying it that way, but you need accept that no one is going to get the joke," Erik said, shaking his head. "Except maybe your dad."

"Isn't Grantaire a Classicist?" This was asked by Kevin, one of the youngest members of the Memorial resident company who was nevertheless still youthful enough to pass as a student. He got Lesgles because he assured Tim that he was willing to shave his head if it came to that. "Would he really be reading 19th century Brit Lit?"

"What's the joke?" Andrew asked, looking a little lost.

Ahmed, happy to defend his position, launched into a spirited explanation. "Okay, first of all, yes, he would be reading it because it's not 19th century Brit Lit to him, it's contemporary fiction. Sexy contemporary fiction. And the joke is that traditionally Don Juan is this great seducer - "

"Rapist," Armand corrected him.

"That too. But in Byron's poem, that's not it, it's a satire, instead of seducing women, Don Juan is seduced _by_ women."

"So, it's kinda feminist?" Christine asked curiously, looking up from her math homework.

Ahmed made a face and shrugged. "Not...really. Anyway, the joke is that Marius is a Don Juan - it's pronounced Jew-on because Byron rhymes the name with 'true one' at one point. The way he's talking about Cosette, it's obvious that she's seduced _him_, not the other way around."

"So, you're basically calling me a loser?" Raoul asked, looking a little crestfallen. Ahmed reached over and ruffled his hair.

"I'm saying you're...a sensitive soul. Let's go with that. It's meant with love."

"Wow," Andrew said, thinking about it for a minute. "This show's a lot more deep than I thought."

"You have no idea," Erik sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, guys, one more time from the top."


	11. Come to Me

**AN: **Thanks for the feedback! I'll do my utmost to keep everything as entertaining as possible, rehearsal chapters and all the rest.

**Writer of the North -** I hope your final went well! I'm glad you enjoyed the Doctor Who, I like to cross fandoms sometimes. **Orestes Fallen**** - **I confess, I only came to love Doctor Who about two years ago, but I am similarly hooked! The Grantaire stuff was fun to write, but I admit, I had to do a little research myself to make it work. Ahmed can be a bit of a pedant when he wants to be, I'm personally satisfied with the 'he's drunk' explanation, but he INSISTED on having a long explanation. As for making the chapters match...does it make me sound like a bad author to say, I don't know? ;-) I'm just going to write and hope for the best, I can always just throw in more two-page discussions of pants to stretch it out a bit. **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack -** I think there's a conspiracy on the part of clothing companies to make it impossible for all but a tiny minority of the world's people to find perfectly fitting pants. If you're too tall or too short or too heavy or too skinny, there's never a perfect pant. My semester is officially over, I hope yours ends on a relatively painless note. **LadyAutreVita - **Hee, poor Raoul, sitting in the back! Briefly, I considered giving Christine a car with a third seat in the front so Raoul could sit squished between them, but I thought that would be a bit _too_ mean. **Alexis -** I'm kind of ridiculously pleased that you were reading this during class, since I've definitely done some writing during class. It's a nice distraction. Thanks for the kind words, I'll definitely keep the structure of the last chapter in mind when I write more rehearsals in the future. I've got one in particular planned so far that I hope will be amusing.

* * *

><p><em>Come to me, Cosette the light is fading.<br>__Don't you see the evening star appearing?  
><em>_-Come to Me_

The ABC boys left after about an hour and a half, so for the rest of the night it was just Christine, Erik, Raoul, Freddy and Lauren. Erik did not offer nearly as much critique as he did earlier, Christine assumed it was because he wasn't a character in any of her scenes, so why bother? In truth, she was not really paying as much attention as she should have been, she had been so busy giggling over the boy's banter and thinking unhappy thoughts about Lauren that she hadn't managed to get as much of her homework done as she wanted.

"A heart, full of love," Christine sang for the fourth time that evening, but she wasn't looking at her music, her eyes were unfocused and she was doing rapid planning in her head. _If I finish the math, I can write the Northanger Abbey reflection paper and be done by midnight, which gives me a solid eight hours of sleep if I fall asleep, like, AT midnight - oh, but I have to take the guys home. Shit, that cuts me down to an hour and a half of homework time._

"Okay, I think we're good for the night," Erik said, cutting Raoul and Christine off mid-harmony. "Otherwise we're going to be locked in."

Lauren gathered up her stuff and bolted for the door, before anyone could say goodbye. Christine was moving just as quickly, shoving music and books into her backpack. She didn't notice Erik crouched beside her until he put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped a mile. "Ack! Jeez, sorry, are you ready to go?"

"No, but you can," Erik said with a smirk. "I need to stop sneaking up on you. Freddy's going to take me and Raoul home, you're off the hook."

"Oh, no I don't mind," she said automatically, even as she was overcome by a wave of relief.

"Nope, it's cool," he replied easily. "We're going to swing by the coffee shop anyway and you probably don't want to see the inside of that place if you're not being paid to."

Christine smiled. "You're right, I need to talk to Freddy about adjusting my hours. Um, and I've got, like, a ton of homework. That's what I get for taking classes before 10am. Oh, my God, am I a lazy college student? I'm totally a lazy college student."

"Meh," Erik shrugged. "I wouldn't say lazy. Full-time student, full-time rehearsal, part-time barista and you're taking a bunch of Gen Eds this semester?"

"Yeah, I'm taking five classes because I'm dumb. Okay, maybe I'm not lazy," she said, straightening up. "Maybe I'm overbooked."

"Just don't say that in front of Lauren," Erik advised, getting to his feet as well. "She'll pounce on you like a lion on a wounded gazelle."

"Ugh, I can't right now, I really can't," Christine rolled her eyes making her way to the door. "I don't even want to think about that."

Erik hesitated for a moment and she sensed that he wanted to say something, but was holding himself back. It was so unlike him that she stopped and turned to look up at him. "What?"

Running a hand through his hair, Erik said, "Well, if you want...if you've got some free time you could come down to the house if you want to work on things. Not to be nosy - ha, pun - but have you seen your voice teacher lately?"

She looked down at the floor in a guilty manner. "No, I mean, he's in Mass and it's hard to get up there - "

"Oh, no, I'm not lecturing you," he said hastily. "Just, if you want, we could work on stuff so you're not, like, thrown to the wolves every rehearsal."

"It was that bad?"

"It wasn't bad," Erik clarified. "Just...not as good as you can be. Wounded gazelle. And I don't want Lauren to think that you're...limping along the Sahara...I need to stop with this metaphor, but basically, shoot me a text when you've got a free hour if this is something that interests you."

"I will," Christine promised. "Thanks, you're awesome, I would love some extra help. I've got to go though, I thought taking a Jane Austen class would be super-fun and relaxing, but it's really, really not."

"Just get Ahmed to write your papers," Freddy said, apparently having eavesdropped on last half of the conversation. "He _loves_ Jane Austen."

"Oh my God, really?" Christine asked, unable to help herself grinning. The girls in her class outnumbered the boys about six to one and Ahmed was not really someone who came off as a sensitive literary guy. His projected image was more that of a sarcastic pothead. "No way."

"Way," Freddy said. "He wanted to take that class, but it conflicted with his second semester Spanish class and he wanted to get the language thing done with. You should talk to him about it, he gets all worked up. Every year in the spring he watches the million-hours Colin Firth miniseries, _ooh_, we should have a party this year!"

"You and your parties," Erik moaned, acting as though Freddy's penchant for get-togethers was physically painful to contemplate. "Anyway, Christine has homework to finish and now you're stalling."

"Oh, and you're not?" Freddy argued back. "Please. 'Ooh, Christine, let me give you voice lessons because I'm Erik and I'm the Musical Theatre Angel, but no one else is allowed to talk to you because the Musical Theatre Angel is a douchey taskmaster.'"

Erik very maturely stuck his tongue out at Freddy. "You're just jealous because I'm the Musical Theatre Angel and _you're_ only the Musical Theatre Fairy."

"Bitch, I'm the Musical Theatre _Queen_, you want to walk home?"

"_Giiiiirl_," Erik shook his head, drawling the word out comically. "Maybe the Musical Theatre Princess. Or the Musical Theatre Lady-in-Waiting - "

Raoul edged around the two of them and put his hand on Christine's arm, "I feel like this might take a while and you've got homework to do." She smiled at her boyfriend and took his hand, waving goodbye to her friends, but she was pretty sure they didn't notice.

"Maybe the Musical Theatre _Jester_ - "

"Or the Musical Theatre _Court Dwarf_ - "

"I thought you did fine," Raoul said once they were out of earshot. "I mean, we're not performing, we're just practicing, right?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't in it to win it," Christine admitted. "Too bad it's too late to drop classes, I feel like if I was taking one less, I'd be fine."

"Me too," Raoul said, shaking his head sadly. "I hate math. I can't do math. You know how people say guys are better at math? It's a lie because I can't do math. I'm taking Finite Math, it's basically Math for Idiots, like, basic algebra and I suck."

"Me too!" Christine said brightly, favoring Raoul with a big grin. "I'm taking Finite Math and I suck too! This must be why we're friends."

"Probably," he said, returning the smile and kissing her as they approached her car.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Christine asked impulsively after the kiss ended far too quickly. "It's not a big deal, I'm almost done with the math and the reflection paper only has to be two pages, I don't mind."

"No, no, it's okay," Raoul said. "I don't want you to not to homework because of me, anyway, Freddy said that The Bistro is doing open mic nights and we're going to check it out."

"Oh, that sounds fun," Christine said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. She hated feeling left out and was more than willing to sacrifice her grades if it meant she could spend time with her friends and not wind up out of the loop in case they had a wonderful time. Maybe that meant she wasn't mature enough for college.

Luckily, Raoul was a sensitive soul who read her distress easily. "It might suck," he reassured her. "And if it doesn't, I think this is a once a month thing, so you can come next time. Unless it sucks in which case we'll never go back and never speak of it again."

Christine smiled and took her keys out, "Okay, sounds good. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Raoul said, kissing her again. "I'll text you later and let you know whether it's cool or not."

It was, as it turned out, cool. Since this was the first open mic night in a while, word had not gotten around and the coffee house was only half-full, but the crowd was full of happy caffeinated hipsters whose attentions were turned toward a hastily assembled stage area. Most of the people who signed up were either slam poets or amateur singer-songwriters. It wasn't bad, when the boys arrived, a young woman was at the mic reciting a spirited soliloquy in opposition to the HBO network.

They'd sent a mass text to see if anyone else was interested in coming out, but nine o'clock on a school night was not a time to initiate a gathering of friends and Ahmed was the only one who was willing to drag his ass out of bed and grab a table for them.

"So, you're giving Christine music lessons?" he asked when Erik sat down. Raoul and Freddy went to the bar to grab drinks and pastry. "And you're hanging out with Raoul. I don't know if this is a positive development or not."

Erik stretched his long legs out in front of him and shrugged. "It's not a big deal, I'm trying to like him. It's hard, he doesn't have a problem buying pants."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind. And how did you find out about Christine - oh, forget it, Freddy is _such_ a gossip, someone needs to muzzle him and I think it has to be me."

"Cool it," Ahmed said, giving Erik's arm a light shove. "You want to be homeless?"

"I could be," he replied contemplatively. "I could move into the basement of Memorial, there are beds there."

"Oh, yeah," his friend said, leveling him with a frank stare. "Because that worked out _so_ well for you last time."

"Hey, I'm doing better," Erik said defensively. "I think I'm doing way better."

"You are doing better," Ahmed allowed. Honestly, anything was better than Erik bleeding and suicidal on the roof, so his standards weren't very high.

"And Christine needs some help," Erik explained. "She's up to the role, but she's a little...overwhelmed. And I don't trust that Lauren girl, she's just waiting for her to trip up so she can have her moment in the spotlight."

"Don't all understudies do that?"

"I don't know," Erik said, his tone and gaze turning suspicious. "Are _you_?"

"Dude, I know where you sleep," Ahmed responded in a self-satisfied way as the other two returned with their drinks and desserts. "If I want your part, you're basically screwed."

"Yeah, don't drink anything he gives you," Freddy said, setting an iced hazelnut in front of Erik, along with a mocha cupcake.

"Should I not drink anything you give me?" Raoul asked, sitting down between Freddy and Ahmed.

"Nope," Freddy replied. "That's why I made you get your own drink. So I wouldn't be tempted to poison you."

"It's a cutthroat world we live in," Erik observed, taking a drink of his coffee.

Raoul opted for a smoothie, "Aren't you going to be up all night? I can't drink coffee at night, I don't sleep."

Erik shrugged and gave Ahmed a side-eye. "Well, I can't sleep, not when I know I might find a pillow over my face in the middle of the night."

Raoul smiled and pulled his phone out to text Christine: **Hey its cool here. Not alot of people, i miss you.**

Fifteen minutes his phone chimed and he saw the very brief reply:** k.**

Erik had been reading over his shoulder. "Christine is one of the worst texters ever," he offered, in a manner that might have been an attempt at sympathy.

"She's really busy," Raoul said, putting his phone away. Christine was always busy, far busier than her because he didn't have a job. His parents insisted that he not work while he was at school, so they just dumped money in his bank account every month. It wasn't something he generally advertised to his friends since he was pretty sure they would mock him mercilessly for having an allowance. Phil hadn't worked a job that wasn't an internship when he was in college or grad school and Raoul was expected to follow in his brother's footsteps. It was not an attractive possibility when he got down to thinking about it.

"Do you care that Erik is totally moving in on your lady?" Freddy asked carelessly.

"What?" Raoul asked, looking up, surprised. Erik groaned and smacked Freddy on the arm.

"My cover is blown! Now I'm never going to be able to seduce Christine with my super-sexy Musical Theatre Angel charms."

"Um, I think we concluded that you were the Musical Theatre Jester," Freddy corrected him and Raoul relaxed when he realized they were just kidding.

"I'm not worried," he said with a smile. "I think it's good to help her out since she's so stressed."

"Christine is, like, professionally stressed," Freddy observed. "She's always running around like she's ten minutes late to everything and she never is. Late, I mean. She's always running around."

Ahmed polished off his chocolate cake and remarked, "It's probably better than not taking anything seriously. Like some people."

"Oh, you don't have room to talk," Freddy shot back. "If Christine is professionally stressed, you're a CEO of Worrywart Inc."

Ahmed did not have anything to say to that and the conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as they listened to a long-haired girl warble her way through an Alanis Morissette song.

"You don't think that Lauren is going to do anything weird, right?" Raoul piped up in concern. "Like...I don't know, itching powder in the costumes or something?"

Erik sighed and shrugged. "Eh, probably not. She's more of a Mean Girl type, I figure. She'll just trash talk behind her back, but Christine is pretty sensitive, so that could be enough to jar her."

"Oh, I don't know," Raoul said. "It's not like she's really insecure. I think she'll be fine."

Erik gave Raoul a strange look. Was he serious? Christine was a little bundle of nerves and insecurity with a streak of bravery that he admired, but she still didn't want anyone to think poorly of her. It was obvious. But apparently her boyfriend was completely clueless in that regard.

"Yeah," he said after a short pause. "She'll be fine. But a little extra practice never hurt anyone." Then he flashed Raoul a smile that bordered on wicked. "No promises that I won't steal your One True Love, though."


	12. Castle on a Cloud

**AN: **Sorry about the minor delay in getting this chapter out! I'll probably be updating on Fridays or Sundays now that summer's started. I hope you guys like this this chapter since I had a lot of fun writing it.

**GiantGreenGiraffeeAttack- **By my calculations, you should be done with school for the semester, so congratulations! I'm pleased my story is mending East Coast/West Coast relations. I must say, I don't have that many preconceived notions about the West Coast, other than the fact that it's really sunny in California and really rainy in Oregon and Washington. I'm glad you don't think the kids are douchey (though I will admit, they have their moments) and sometimes I feel like everyone is mad at New York except for people who are actually from New York. I don't have many issues with them...except for when they're holding up traffic because they get lost driving through Providence. Then I can have an attack of Erik-level road rage. **LadyAutreVita- **I related to Christine most in her moments of panic. Poor, poor Raoul, I'm trying not to be _too _mean to him because he's really such a nice kid. To be fair, even Erik isn't taking his 'I'm going to seduce Christine' threats seriously, he's assuming Christine's not interested, he just likes to tease Raoul. **Alexis - **I love writing the banter, so I'm glad you like reading it! The Raoul/Christine/Erik triangle is tough for me since Raoul is SUCH a nice kid that even Erik is beginning to like him despite himself. Oh well, time will tell how many hearts are destined to get broken. As for the boys' class schedules, all the BFA kids are taking Acting, Script Analysis and an hour of Voice and Movement a week. In addition to that, Erik is taking a second semester of Latin and a History of Jazz class, so he's basically breezing through class. Ahmed is taking a beginner's Spanish class (easy since he had three years of Spanish in high school) and a geology class (he only shows up to take the tests). Freddy is taking Intro to British Lit and the same Finite Math class as Christine, but he's not totally hopeless at math, so he's not super stressed. Erik, Freddy and Ahmed are huge slackers, is the short answer.

* * *

><p><em>There is a castle on a cloud.<br>I like to go there in my sleep.  
>Aren't any floors for me to sweep,<br>Not in my castle on a cloud.  
>-Castle on a Cloud<em>

Monday found Christine all caught up on her homework without classes and a free afternoon. The theatre was dark on Mondays, so none of their usual classes were meeting (aside from an hour of Voice and Movement at 10, which she yawned her way through and the Jane Austen professor was suffering from shingles, so class was cancelled until further notice. Given that she didn't have rehearsal that night, she decided it might be a good time to take Erik up on his offer.

A part of her felt guilty, that she should really be hanging out with Raoul since her afternoon was free and clear, but she really wanted to work on her songs before she had to rehearse with Geoff and while it was one thing to underwhelm her friends with her performance, it was quite another to underwhelm a Real Actor who might someday offer her a recommendation to a Real Director thus aiding her rise to musical theatre stardom. Or at least her rise to regular employment, which she'd happily take if stardom wasn't in the cards.

So, being a bad girlfriend (but then, maybe this could be construed as revenge on Raoul for missing the party - too petty?), she dialed up Erik on his phone and waited so long she expected to hear his voicemail before he came through on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Christine," he said, voice sounding far away and muffled. She caught the sound of music in the background, but that disappeared almost instantly.

"Hey," she replied, putting a finger in her free ear to better hear him. "Are you busy today? I was thinking we could maybe do some practicing."

"That would be fantastic - I'm not busy...hang on, fucking people don't know how to merge."

"Are you driving?" she asked, trying to hide the shock in her voice. The last time she'd seen Erik drive he'd been stoned and it wasn't even noon yet. She didn't want to be a total dweeb, but she assumed that toking up before midday was like drinking in the morning: an indication that someone might have a substance abuse problem.

"Yeah," Erik replied, like it was no big deal. "I've got a funeral, but I can meet you after."

Although she hadn't said anything insensitive, Christine felt an odd twist in her gut when Erik mentioned that he was attending a funeral. Probably the same feeling people got when she dropped the 'dead mom' thing. It was why she did so rarely and only in the right context, this was not a pleasant feeling. "I'm sorry," she said awkwardly, biting her tongue to keep from asking the follow-up 'Who died?' "If you're, um, busy today, we can just forget it - "

"No, it's cool," he said quickly. "I'll be done in an hour, max, I'll text you during the eulogy. Want to meet me at my parents' house? It's in Cranston, I'll send you the address."

"Uh..." Christine wasn't really sure what to say. She knew Erik could be a little callous sometimes, but texting during church - during a funeral, no less - seemed like a new low for him. "Um. Maybe text me after? Like, during the...um, reception or something?"

To her immense surprise, Erik laughed on the other end. "Wow, you must think I'm a complete douche, I'm not going to a funeral for someone I know, I'm just going to work."

"You work at a funeral home?" Christine was suddenly struck by the macabre image of Erik in a somber black suit, driving a hearse, chatting with her on the phone and swearing at his fellow travellers on the road. Actually, that wasn't too out of character for him. It also occurred to her that she'd never heard of Erik having a job before, at least not a job outside Memorial and she was not convinced he got paid for that.

Again, he laughed. "Oh, god no, that would be cool through. No, no, I get paid by some of the local churches to play the organ at masses, funerals, weddings and stuff. Not so much now since school's happening, but the family has a special request, so the priest recommended me."

It never occurred to Christine that people who played at churches got any kind of salary, but at least Erik wasn't a callous mourner or an easily distracted hearse-driver. "Oh," she said, feeling relieved for some reason. "Okay. Sure, just give me the address of your parents' place, I'll GoogleMap it."

And GoogleMap she did. Erik's parents lived in a converted Victorian on a tree-lined broad street in a charming suburban neighborhood. Christine, not wanting to take up space in the driveway, parked across the street and instead looked around, trying to find any trace of Erik in the neighborhood and coming up short. It was a sunshiney, idyllic sort of place, very close to Narragansett Bay. There were kids riding bikes, young moms pushing jogging strollers and walking dogs up and down the sidewalk. She wasn't sure what she expected, but this image of the 'burbs was not it.

A few minutes after she arrived, a big black pick-up truck came hurtling down the road, causing kids to scatter and dogs to bark in alarm. It pulled into Erik's parents' driveway and an instant later, the young man himself hopped out of the driver's seat and waved to Christine across the street. She got out and did a bit of a double-take when she saw Erik. He was dressed, at first glance, a little more formally than she'd ever seen him and he looked...well, pretty nice. He was wearing black pants, not jeans, and a white shirt with a collar and a tie. The black vest he was wearing was well fitted, but made him look a little more substantial through the torso, so even though he was still obviously tall, he looked less like a beanpole than usual.

"Sorry," he said, a little breathless, jogging over to her car. "Apparently the guy had been in the military, he wanted every single verse of 'Willie McBride' for Communion and the song, is like, ten minutes long. It was cool that the family went along with it though, most people just go with the standard line-up, regardless of what the dead person may have wanted."

Not really well-versed in funerary customs, having only been to a few in her lifetime, Christine just nodded like she agreed. "How was it?" she asked. "Aside from long?"

"Oh, this one was sad," Erik said, jerking his head toward the house so Christine would follow him. His demeanor was incredibly casual, like he critiques the music selection of the average Rhode Island funeral every day. Hey, maybe he did. "I mean, this guy was in his 90s, I think, so I guess he had a good run, he was a WWII vet. Usually you only get a handful of people when they're that old, family, but he was really active in the parish and the community, so there was a pretty big turnout for a Monday. Everyone was pretty much sobbing after Communion, it's basically the most depressing song ever written. I kind of felt bad."

They entered the house which was a little bit of a mess, apparently his mother wasn't one for housecleaning. There were clothes in various states of folding all over the living room, most of them looked like Maddy's things. A pair of heels was abandoned near the door and Christine saw a bunch of thumbed-through magazines on the coffee table, along with various mugs and water glasses.

Erik paid little mind to the mess, indicating that Christine should follow him, but she stopped short when she saw the framed photos over the fireplace. "Awww!" she exclaimed, running over to the mantle without so much as a by-your-leave. "Is this baby!Erik?"

Indeed it was. The picture Christine squeed over was that of a curly-haired toddler sitting on a phone book in front of an organ, evidently pounding away at the keys with a look of intense concentration on his wee little face. It occurred to her to ask if the nose he had in the picture was his actual nose or a fake one, but that was incredibly inappropriate, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Yeah," Erik said, his tone slightly embarrassed. "I was channeling Gary Oldman in _Immortal Beloved_, I think. That's at my Memere's house, she has an organ, she used to play for the church. Um...so, we're here to practice?"

Christine turned to him with a huge grin on her face and shook her head. "Oh, no way. Nope, that was just a ruse so I could get access to your family photos - ohmygod, is that baby!Ahmed?"

It wasn't exactly baby!Ahmed, more like preschool!Ahmed, but the effect was the same. He was wearing shorts and an _Arthur _t-shirt. He had an arm around the shoulder of a much paler little boy with unruly brown curls who was himself wearing jeans and a Power Rangers shirt. The Red Ranger, to be exact. They were grinning big, cheesy grins at the camera, surrounded by the remains of a Lego city which had evidently been destroyed in an epic _Transformers _battle. "Awww," she cooed again. "Have you guys been besties since, like, birth?"

"Not quite birth," Erik said, kind of weirded out at the revelation that old pictures from the '90s turned Christine into simpering crazy person. "Our parents lived in the same apartment building in the city until the Yaris moved when we were in middle school. They live two blocks away from here, we basically stalked them. Ahmed and I went to preschool together at the same place on the East Side and our moms became bus buddies, so we were basically forced together."

"You don't look like you minded," she said, still slightly doe-eyed over tiny!Ahmed and tiny!Erik in their Weeboks.

"Well, neither of us had taste, really," Erik shrugged.

"When did you guys move?" she asked. "Your house is really pretty."

"Ninth grade," he explained. "There's an apartment on the third floor, we rent it out to college kids to help with the mortgage. Anyway, we can reminisce about my wasted youth later, come check out the music room."

When Erik said 'music room,' Christine kind of expected a basement with a couch and a keyboard, maybe a Mac to record sound, but she was incredibly impressed to see a mini-studio complete with what appeared an amateur recording booth. There was indeed a keyboard and, to her great surprise, an upright piano, two guitars and a drum kit. "Holy crap," she said, in minor awe. "This is so cool!"

"Yeah, it is," Erik said smugly, sounding pleased with one of Christine's observations since they entered the house. "I got this setup for my sixteenth birthday, I was...uh, it was a rough year, so as a result, I got a pretty sweet present. One great thing about my family is that they really like to buy people's love, which can occasionally work out in my favor."

"How did you get the piano down here?" she marveled, taking a second look at the upstairs door which did not seem exactly large enough to accommodate it.

"There's bulkhead which leads into the backyard, it's good for transporting big instruments - and sneaking in, when necessary," he smirked. Then he sat down at the piano bench and cracked his knuckles. "Want to get started?"

They rehearsed for about an hour with Erik mostly giving her mechanical instruction, breathe hear, you got a little pitchy on that verse, less vibrato on the refrain, etc. Christine felt better having some feedback and with greater confidence came a better performance. Erik smiled at her when all was said and done. "Nicely done," he complimented her.

Christine blushed. "Thanks, you're not bad at this yourself."

Erik shrugged and then jumped up, like he was just remembering something. "Hey, I forgot to burn that song for you, do you have time to stay a little longer?"

"Sure," Christine said, all thoughts of calling Raoul to see if he wanted to grab a late lunch flying out of her head. They could grab dinner instead. There might be more baby pictures here!

Erik led the way out of the basement, loosening his tie and tossing it off on top of the pile of clothes on the living room couch. When it became obvious that he was taking her upstairs, Christine felt her stomach give a little flutter of excitement. They were going to his bedroom? Cool! Maybe there were yearbooks. She saved all of hers from elementary school, surely there were more pictures of wee!Erik and friends to be had.

Erik's room was behind a nondescript brown door, which he opened without any preamble, apparently having no qualms about taking girls up to his sanctum sanctorum. It was dark, the only window in the room was covered with thick black curtains, but when Erik flicked on the light it became clear Maddy passed more things on to her son than a weird eye color, narrow jaw and high cheekbones. Even though he hadn't been living at home since Christmas, there were clothes scattered around, mostly sweatshirts and t-shirts, nothing weird like underwear (thank god, because Christine wasn't sure she could handle that). The room wasn't actually that big and everything was packed pretty tightly in. One wall was dominated by an entertainment system graced with a television, VCR, DVD player and three outdated video game consoles alongside an overflowing bookshelf. A desk was squished in another corner near the closet, also covered in stuff. There was a full bed in the middle of the wall furthest from the window, at least the bed looked like it had been made, it was outfitted with a black comforter and black pillows...but upon closer inspection, Christine noticed that the bedsheets had tiny images of Spiderman all over them. Awwww.

"Do you want a drink?" Erik asked, then, realizing that his room was a little gross for guest-standards, started zipping around, picking clothes up from the bed and the floor and tossing them into the closet. Christine didn't get a good look inside as he did, so she wasn't sure if her 'wardrobe of three black outfits' theory was sound or not. He also moved a black violin case, presumably containing a violin, from his bed to his desk chair. There. Presentable.

"Sure," she said. "What do you have?"

"A lot of vodka, wine, juice and iced tea - I'll get iced tea," he said, upon thinking it over. "It's the mix kind, through, so it's not super-authentic or anything. I'd offer you food, but we don't keep a ton in the house."

"That's okay, I prefer the mix kind," Christine replied. She was a little disappointed that there were no snacks, but then she reminded herself of her dinner plans with Raoul. She'd just need to call him and make them first.

"Cool," Erik said, obviously relieved that she wasn't judging him over the fact that all his parents saw fit to keep in the house were fodder for mixers and occasional frozen Lean Cuisine dinners. "Back in a minute."

Leaving Christine alone in a room was probably not a great idea since it made her want to _explore_ and sometimes the spirit of discovery overwhelmed her desire to respect people's privacy. The shelves were covered in movie posters and over the desk there was a cork board with programs and more pictures, but they weren't as old as they ones downstairs, they were probably from high school since she recognized Freddy, Ahmed, Meg and others from the program. Erik wasn't in any of those. The bookshelf she examined next, finding it loaded with everything from classics, to science and engineering textbooks, novels and academic music theory books as well as a good number of graphic novels and fan novels of various stripes, including _Star Wars_, _Star Trek_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

There was a sketchbook on the desk in the corner. Without thinking to ask permission, Christine picked it up and started flipping through the pages. They were pen and ink renderings of various things, a tree, a telephone pole with a line of dark birds perched on it, but it seemed that Erik had a particular fondness for drawing people's faces, especially the faces of people he knew. There was Maddy and two of Meg, in one of the images she was smiling with a mouthful of braces. A picture of Ahmed wearing a fez with the caption 'Fezzes are cool.' If it was a reference it was one she didn't get.

There was even a picture of her, apparently drawn from memory since Christine had no idea what photo Erik might have based it on. She was smiling with her mouth closed in three quarter profile with one visible dimple. He'd rendered her curls in painstaking detail. Right then and there Christine decided it was the prettiest she'd ever looked even if there was something off about the eyes. Despite the small smile her eyes looked a little...sad? Wistful, maybe. Was it possible to draw 'wistful'?

Erik returned a few minutes later with two glasses of iced tea and his eyes narrowed slightly when he saw her going through his stuff. "You're kind of nosy, you realize that, don't you?"

"I'm curious," she corrected him, angling the picture of her towards him so he could see what she was looking at. "So...singing, acting, dancing, playing the piano, _pipe organ_, violin, guitar, now drawing. Is there anything you _can't _do?"

Erik shrugged and set her glass on his bedside table. "I'm not very good at mini-golf," he admitted. "Or duckpin bowling."

"Well, I rock at mini-golf," Christine bragged. "We're going to have to do that as soon as they open so I can beat you and feel good about myself."

"Monster Mini-Golf is open year-round," Erik said, walking around to the other side of his bed and lounging with his iced tea. "We could do that whenever."

"What's Monster Mini-Golf?" Christine asked, assuming that she could also sit on the bed since he cleared it off for her.

"It's your basic mini-golf course only indoors with blacklights and monster-themed holes. Coffins everywhere, you know." Christine actually didn't know, but it sounded pretty cool. "Also they have a little arcade place with air hockey. After you've sufficiently kicked my ass in mini-golf, I'm afraid I'm going to have to challenge you to air hockey so I can reclaim my status as the Most Awesome."

"Well, then I'm going to have to challenge you to skeeball - please tell me they have skeeball," she asked, taking a sip of her iced tea. It was ultrasweet and not at all gritty, therefore perfect.

"Of course there's skeeball, we're not barbarians," Erik said loftily. "This all sounds very agreeable, I'll save my quarters. Also, when we inevitably start inviting people, don't tell Freddy about it until the last minute."

"Why not?" Christine asked curiously.

"Because he'll want to turn it into a B Movie theme night and I haven't finished chipping the silly string off my Dracula cape from the last one."

"Ooh, that sounds fun!" Christine said enthusiastically. "I never thought of Dracula as a B movie, though."

"Technically, I wasn't Dracula," Erik clarified. "I was the character Bela Lugosi played in _Plan 9 from Outer Space._ Actually, technically-technically, I wasn't that character either, I was going for the character Ed Wood's wife's chiropractor played in _Plan 9 from Outer Space_, the one who had the cape over his face so that no one realized he wasn't Lugosi, except that was kind of pointless since it was obvious - you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"You kind of lost me at 'wife's chiropractor," Christine acknowledged, sipping her tea. "But no, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You haven't seen _Plan 9 from Outer Space_?" he asked, arching an eyebrow and shaking his head. "You're killing me, Christine. First you've never seen _Texas Chain Saw Massacre_, then you were freaked out by _Hellraiser_. I just can't take you anywhere, can I? Did you at least see the Tim Burton movie _Ed Wood_?"

"Is that the one with Johnny Depp?" Christine threw out as a shot on the dark, trying to sound less uninformed than she was. Unlucky for her, Erik was wise to her bluffing.

"Nice try, they _all _have Johnny Depp. It's a really great movie...but I don't think you can really appreciate it until you see an actual Ed Wood movie."

"Who's Ed Wood?"

"Well," Erik said, his voice taking on a quality usually found in university professors who were convinced that they were an authority on the subject about which they spoke. "He's considered to be one of the worst - if not _the_ worst - film directors of all time, but I personally don't hold to that. Even his shittiest movie is entertaining and I personally feel that a director has done his job if I am entertained. He made really cheap horror movies really quickly, a lot of them with Bela Lugosi before he died. Lugosi was kind of a sad morphine addict when he was old and Wood gave him a chance to act again...even though the movies sort of suck. Objectively. People think _Plan 9 _is the worst film ever made."

"Do you have any of them?" Christine asked, because the chance of watching a drug-addled Dracula in shitty movies sounded too good to pass up. "Do you have the Tim Burton one?"

"I have the Ed Wood collection on DVD," Erik declared proudly. "I think you should watch at least one of his movies before you watch the Burton film, you can appreciate it more."

Christine readily agreed and Erik sprang up to plug in his DVD player. He decided they should watch _Bride of the Monster _since, according to Erik, it was, "The best of the worst."

The afternoon got away from them, after _Bride of the Monster_, Christine requested to see _Plan 9 from Outer Space_ and then Erik deemed her sufficiently prepared to watch Tim Burton's _Ed Wood_. By the time that was done, night had fallen and when Christine finally texted Raoul to ask about dinner, he said he'd already eaten.


	13. Master of the House

**AN: **Sorry that this chapter's a little short, but it's necessary in setting up the next part of story set up. Hopefully I don't wallop you over the head with foreshadowing ;-)

**GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **I'm glad you liked the last chapter, it's one of my personal favorites too! Yeah, the weather in New England has been similarly insane since January, it was really hot in February and March, now it's raining every five minutes and people are getting their coats back out. **Orestes Fallen -** It's total fluff, not really romantic fluff, but definitely friend fluff. Erik and Ahmed are SO the cutest widdle babies in the world, don't let them tell you different. **pony007 - **Sadly, no baby pictures, but since they went over so well, they might make an appearance later! Alas, with the onset of puberty, Erik's curly hair became more wavy, but luckily his parents took pictures, so they're preserved for all time for Christine to squee over.** Mobius Richard - **Ha, that's also my idea of domestic bliss, Ed Wood movies and Evil Dead marathons! Erik LOVES Mystery Science Theatre, he used to watch it every Saturday when it was on SciFi. Thanks for reading!

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><p><em>Master of the House, keeper of the zoo<br>Ready to relieve them of a sou or two.  
>Watering the wine, making up the weight<br>Picking up their knick-knacks when they can't see straight.  
>-Master of the House<em>

Gaspard, though doing much better, was not feeling as good as he could be and decided to take it easy, leaving another week of rehearsal in Erik's capable hands. As long as the teenager conducted himself in a professional manner - and refrained from giving direction to the adults in the cast - Tim had no problem letting him act as accompanist. Wasn't a problem for Erik either, it gave him more time to concentrate on doing something he knew he was good at rather than awkwardly trying to seduce Christine with 50s B-movies.

Maybe 'seduce' was too strong a term. Granted, they were lying in bed together, but that was as far as the evening progressed. Eventually she texted her boyfriend to see if he was around for dinner, but he wasn't and Freddy was home at that point so the three of them headed to Gregg's to split an order of nachos and enjoy the complimentary rolls and pickles. Not exactly the stuff of steamy romance dramas. Actually, any potential spark of the salacious probably withered and died the moment she got a glimpse of his baby pictures.

All of the images of Erik which were publicly displayed in his parents' house were of him as a toddler or older and thank the heavens for that since he was a sad, sickly sort of baby who did not merit shutterbug parents preserving his earliest months for posterity. Also, though he did not remember it, his mother had been horrifically depressed following his birth and subsequent hospitalizations, so it was not a happy time for anyone. It a spot of good luck that he hadn't had to explain any of that to Christine, she probably would have insisted that he burn her the song and get on her way.

The 'Christine Thing' as he termed it privately to himself, while not causing him hours of agony was problematic, to say the least. In the first place, Erik did not think he was remotely capable of engaging in a romantic relationship of any kind, so if she went nuts or developed some weird, rehearsal-induced Stockholm Syndrome and decided she was ga-ga for him, he was pretty sure the kindest thing to do would be to have her committed, not act on his feelings. In the second, she was dating Raoul. And that was an issue.

He was just _such a nice kid_. Erik found his optimism, naivete and sweet disposition cloying and irritating, but he found he was just incapable of hating him. Raoul had the youthful certainty that everyone in the world had his best interests at heart that was bred out of most children by the age of four. Maybe it was because he was the baby of the family and had older siblings to stick up for him and protect him from the douchebags of the universe, Erik wouldn't know, but it was absolutely uncanny at times.

Other guys in Raoul's position who had a pretty, kind, talented girlfriend like Christine might grow suspicious that she was spending so much time alone with another dude, but not Raoul. Didn't even cross his mind and that night when Freddy and Erik were ribbing him about it at the open mic, he just laughed it off.

Possibly, it went deeper than that, Erik reflected, driving himself to an evening rehearsal. Maybe, if he had been any other dude, Raoul would have felt the green-eyed monster of jealousy breathing down his neck when Christine merrily announced that she'd spent the afternoon with Erik looking at his baby pictures. If he looked like Ahmed, for instance, who was all chiseled-jaw, broad shouldered, sane male perfection (Ahmed, for his part, didn't acknowledge his attractiveness at _all_, which could be insanely annoying), then Raoul might wonder if something happened. But Erik was ugly and crazy, so he didn't. And nothing did happen, so he was probably justified in his assessment.

His phone buzzed on the passenger seat and Erik picked it up without bothering to glance at the number. "Hey," he answered casually, assuming it was one of the cast asking that he grab coffee and Munchkins before rehearsal.

"Hello, my I speak to Mr. Theroux?" A professionally pleasant voice that Erik didn't recognize left him slightly discombobulated.

"Uh, which one?" he asked, apparently not understanding that since they were calling _his_ cell, they probably wanted to talk _to _him. Hmm. Maybe smoking too much did kill brain cells.

"Erik Theroux," she replied patiently. "This is Kent Hospital Laboratory Services, you were scheduled for a therapeutic phlebotomy today at four, we were wondering if you were going to cancel your appointment."

A glance at the dashboard clock told Erik that it was 4:15. Fuck.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, I'm, um, stuck in traffic," he lied, none too smoothly. "Can I reschedule?"

"Sure, let me give a few dates and tell me what works best for you."

Erik chose a random Monday which, he realized a moment later, fell the week after Spring Break. This was supposed to be his last phlebotomy for a few months and those always left him feeling useless and woozy for at least a day afterward, so he would probably miss Tuesday's rehearsal as a result. Skipping was Bad News Bears if he wasn't careful, but since he was spending most of his free time in a windowless room pounding on piano keys, he figured nothing too terrible would result from it. He'd just have to avoid the sun for a few weeks, with his schedule, that shouldn't be too hard.

It all but fled his mind and after rehearsal, when Tim asked him if he would mind distributing posters to local businesses when he had a free afternoon, Erik thought nothing of it. When Maddy, who was dropping him off at the house he shared with his friends before driving the car home, in the midst of complaining about how insufferably twee and precocious the little girl playing Young Cosette was asked, "Oh, hey, did you have a doctor's appointment or something today?" Erik shrugged and replied that he'd taken care of it. A better mother would have raised an eyebrow and asked him to elaborate, but Maddy took him at his word and went back to threatening infanticide if she had to hear 'Castle on a Cloud' one more time.

When he got home, Ahmed was lying on the couch watching _My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding_ and smirking. "You tried seducing her with _Ed Wood_."

Erik rolled his eyes and threw his bag on the floor, perching on the arm of the couch. "Given what you're watching, I'd hardly say I'm the one who lacks taste."

"You know, you'd think this show was just trashy," Ahmed began, philosophically. "But I think TLC has actually transcended its own stupidity. Really, sure, we can look at this like it's just another one of the TLC sideshow lineups about crazy inbred Irish people in bedazzled underwear _or _you can look at it like it's an anthropological study."

Erik paused a beat and looked from the screen back to Ahmed, then back at the screen again. "I'm seeing bedazzled underwear."

"You have to look _past_the underwear and - shut up, you know that's not what I meant."

Giggling, Erik shoved Ahmed's legs aside and sat on the couch. Not a moment later, Ahmed re-deposited his feet in Erik's lap, effectively trapping him. Unbeknownst to him, with the lure of crap TV and a stupid argument, Ahmed had Erik exactly where he wanted him.

"So, _Ed Wood_."

"Highly underrated," Erik said, trying to change the subject. "Come on, you like_ Glen or Glenda_."

"I like Bela Lugosi in _Glen or Glenda_and he's basically in a completely different movie from the rest of the cast," Ahmed clarified. "But seriously dude, you had her up in your room and you're going to tell me - "

"I'm going to tell you nothing. Or did you forget that I've had pretty much every one of our female friends in my room at some point? It doesn't _mean _anything, this is not _When Harry Met Sally_, Christine is not Meg Ryan and I am certainly not Billy Crystal."

"Well, no, you aren't Jewish," Ahmed pointed out reasonably. "I'm not trying to, like, lecture you or anything. I mean, before she was dating Raoul, I thought you guys - "

"Oh my god," Erik groaned in exasperation. "Have I not told you to drop this? I believe I've told you, like, twenty thousand times to drop this. How has it not been dropped? Ooh, look, they're getting kicked out of the trailer park. Let's watch them get kicked out of the trailer park."

But because Erik hadn't thrown him bodily from the couch, Ahmed sensed that he was open to talking about it. "Just give me a straight answer: Are you into her?"

Erik rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "Yes! Are you fucking happy? Of course, I am, she's nice and cute and she's got a voice like a fucking choir of cherubims and seraphims. I wrote her a fucking _song_, Ahmed."

His friend let out a low whistle. "Jeez, you've got it bad, huh?"

"Is that not obvious? Really? You've been talking like this since September, really, I didn't think you were _that_slow."

Ahmed chose to ignore the insult. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Why?" Erik growled, glaring at the television. "Because you're a fucking sadist?"

"Because I think it's...part of the healing process," Ahmed phrased that last remark as delicately as he could. Erik's glare transferred from the TV to his housemate and Ahmed held his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. "Hey! Not for nothing, but you haven't admitted to having a crush on _anyone _in over a year. I call this progress."

"For the record, I've never _mentioned_having a crush on anyone before that either."

"Yeah, but you also never made off like you were completely asexual either. You used to flirt with Lou at work like nobody's business and you haven't done that in forever." The 'Lou' Ahmed was referring to was the middle-aged, twice divorced library director Ahmed worked under.

Erik gave Ahmed a frank look and said, "I only flirt with Lou because it makes him incredibly uncomfortable. Also because, frankly, he's a silver fox and he deserves to be constantly flirted with. I promise to get back to that next time I visit you at work, if it'll make you happy." It was perhaps a more accurate assessment to say that Erik flirted _at _Lou since the man, to his credit, never flirted back. He'd just snort, shake his head and mutter something about 'crazy kids' before walking away. It amused Erik greatly and his love of causing others discomfort wasn't hurt by the fact that Lou bore a striking resemblance to Rupert Graves.

"Actually, I've been enjoying the break because you hitting on my boss makes _me _uncomfortable - "but whatever other pearls of wisdom Ahmed had to offer were interrupted by Freddy breezing into the house.

"Evening, ladies," he said airily, tossing his apron on top of Erik's bag on the floor and flopping into a chair. "So, when are we having a mini golf showdown? Christine told me all about your plans at work tonight."

"I'm free next Saturday night, after rehearsal," Erik replied, far more eager to make plans than normal so Ahmed would shut the hell up about his lack of a love life and the psychological implications thereof. Ahmed wasn't seeing anyone either, so what the hell?

"Cool beans," Freddy nodded. "I can get the night off, I can fix the schedule so Christine and Charlotte can get the night off. Should be fun. Oh, she also told me about how you chained her to your bed and forced her to watch crappy movies until she succumbed to your sick lust. Nice going."

"Oh my god!" Erik exploded. "That is not even remotely what happened, you guys are so worried about who I am or am not fucking that I'm almost convinced you're both secretly in love with _me_."

Freddy blinked and gave Erik a blank stare. "It's supposed to be a secret?"

Ahmed stifled a chuckle and said, "Yeah, dude, we've been trying to get with you all year. You didn't notice?"

Erik gave them a look that, momentarily, made Ahmed and Freddy fear he was about to pick up the coffee table and bust it over their heads when he threw his head back and laughed. "You're both such douchebags," he said, shaking his head.

"But we're _fun_douchebags," Freddy pointed out happily. "It's why you keep us around. Hey, didn't you have a doctor's appointment today?"

Erik, still smiling, just shrugged as he had in the car with his mother. "Yeah, but I rescheduled. It's really not a big deal."


	14. The Bargain

**AN: **To make up for last week I present you with the longest chapter in this installation of the fic. Yay! Unfortunately, there is a decided lack of Erik. Boo! Don't worry, our favorite emo kid will be back very, very soon.

**GiantGreenGiraffeeAttack - **Thank you! I really appreciate that because I do want the characters to be as grounded in reality as they can be. And if you want to talk about those awkward late teen years...well, this chapter is a doozy. Ahmed is one of my absolute favorites to write, he is that person who just has to mother everyone (now, luckily, it's mostly focused on Erik who needs all the mothering he can get), but also wants to have a good time. And that's interesting that you switched majors, one of my charries is under very similar pressure. It's you're psychic for this fic! And yeah, North America seriously lacks in sunshiny bliss, especially on the scale of Australia. **Alexis - **Thank you! You're about to get to know one character REALLY well (maybe too well). I like to give out bits and pieces before going for a giant info dump. And Maddy has zero patience for children, it's why she only had one (and we see how well she did with that one...) You were right on both counts in your plot guesses!

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><p><em>I found her wandering in the woods<br>This little child, I found her trembling in the shadows.  
>- The Bargain<em>

Christine was super stoked for Monster Mini-Golf. The day was sunny outside and pleasantly cool after their freaky too hot to trot late winter/early spring weather. Spring Break was starting that Monday and aside from rehearsals and work, Christine had nothing else to toil away at. She figured she might drive home and have her dad and Val spoil her with home cooking and maybe some new clothes. The show was still being blocked, though they were getting into the second act now and, luckily, she wasn't in most of the second act, so her personal life was as free as possible before the April rush of run-throughs and tech rehearsals. First, she would get the opportunity to show off her mad putting skillz and then she'd get free food and clothes. Life was freaking perfect.

She was walking on Cloud 9 when her phone rang. Surprised to see Ahmed's name on the caller ID since, as far as Christine would remember, Ahmed never called her, she answered with a slightly surprised. "Hi, what's up?"

"Hey," Ahmed said, his deep voice displeased. Christine's heart sank and she knew that her plans for a carefree evening were dashed. Either something was wrong with Erik or someone had died. The two possibilities were never mutually exclusive. "Would it break your heart if we rescheduled mini-golf?"

It was a weird way to phrase it, so Christine replied in kind, "Um, not broken, but maybe a little bruised. Why? Will it close before you guys get out?"

"Uh, no, it's just, Erik's...not feeling great and he _really _wanted to go and it was kind of his idea, so I feel like it would be kind of dick for us to go without him."

"Sick how?" Christine asked immediately, ignoring the little voice in her head that told her it was none of her business. "Like...flu sick or...um - "

"He's just not feeling great," Ahmed repeated, as though that vague descriptor was supposed to allay her curiosity. "He's up at his parents' house, he'll probably be there through spring break. He said we should go on without him, but he said it in that whiny voice like if we went without him we'd never hear the end of it."

"We could go twice," Christine said, slightly desperate to salvage the evening. This was supposed to be her big night out, a harbinger of a wonderful week to come. If she didn't have that, then the week would get off on a bad note and thus only suckiness would follow.

Ahmed sighed, barely audibly from the other end of the phone. "Yeah, Freddy suggested that, but Erik was all, 'It's not the _same_,' and I don't know why it wouldn't be the same, but apparently it wouldn't be."

It was on the tip of Christine's tongue to tell Ahmed that maybe Erik wouldn't act like a six-year-old all the time if people didn't give in to his little temper tantrums, but she knew better than to call him out. Besides, it _had _been Erik's idea and when Christine thought about spending the night without him there it left her feeling slightly bummed. She'd really been looking forward than being better than him at something.

"Yeah, it wouldn't be," she agreed. "It's okay, we can go when he's better. Maybe next weekend? Before school starts up? Will he be better then?"

"That's up to him." It was such a cryptic response that Christine knew she couldn't possibly let that one slide without an explanation, but then her phone beeped from an in-coming call.

"Oh hey, Raoul's beeping in," she said, completely forgetting to ask Ahmed what he meant by his last comment. "Can I call you back, or...?"

"Yeah, text me," he said noncommittally. "Meg was thinking we should go see a movie instead, maybe _The Hunger Games_. Or _Silent House _if we can't get in, I'll text you when we figure it out."

"K," Christine replied without enthusiasm. Neither movie appealed to her in the slightest. Hanging up with Ahmed she deftly transferred calls and greeted Raoul with, "Did you know mini-golf is canceled?"

"Aw, really? That sucks," he said genuinely. "I was hoping to have an excuse to not go home tonight. Since I don't have rehearsal 'til Monday my parents were all 'Come eat dinner with us!' and I was like 'Aw, I'd love to, but I've got plans with my friends.' But now I guess I don't."

"You could still say you're going out with friends," Christine explained about the movie-going alterna-plans.

Raoul was quiet for a minute and then spoke with the hesitant voice of someone who really doesn't want to do something. "Well...I guess. I kind of want to hold off on _Hunger Games _until I read the book and I don't really know anything about _Silent House_."

"Me neither," Christine said, her voice all smiles and relief that she had an ally. "I mean, is there anything out that you want to see?"

Another pause. "Not really - hey! Okay, um, you can say no, you can totally say no, you might _want _to say no, but do you want to have dinner at my parents' place?"

_Oh dear God, no. No, I do not. _That was Christine's initial reaction, a gut feeling based on Raoul's own reluctance to spend any time at all with his family above the absolute minimum. She went over on Halloween, but his parents had been out at a party and his brother wasn't home either, so it wasn't a big deal. "Is it just you and your parents?" she asked, thinking they'd at least be evenly matched. Two on two.

"No," Raoul said sounding as annoyed as Christine ever heard him. "Phil's home from school this week, but he's going back tomorrow which is why they want me over. Eloise is coming too with her husband Marco and Lucie. Soph might come over, she might bring her boyfriend, I don't know. But yeah, that's why my parents want me home, it's Phil's going-away dinner." He declined to mention the fact that Phil had so far gotten two going away dinners within the past three months, one when he went back to Georgetown in January and now this one for going back to Georgetown in March. He was pretty sure they had a 'Welcome Home!' cocktail party last Sunday, but luckily Raoul had class the next day and didn't have to go.

Christine was now facing odds of 6 (potentially 8) against 2. She might suck at math, but she did not like those numbers. And yet Raoul sounded so excited at the possibility of having her come to dinner, that she couldn't refuse him without feeling like a terrible person. "Sure," she said finally. "I'll come to dinner."

They pulled up to Casa Chaney in Raoul's car at 6:55. Dinner was at 7. Christine suspected, but did not confirm that he stopped to fill up his gas tank as a stalling tactic, since the meter said it was half-full when they pulled into the gas station. "Um, okay," he said nervously. "So, my parents are kind of...overbearing, I'm sorry. Phil's usually really busy talking about himself, so I'm sorry if he seems...um. And Marc does stuff with computers that no one understands so if he asks you a question and you don't know what he's talking about, that's okay, he likes to explain things. Eloise is nice, but she's usually busy with Lucie and Lucie's cute, but kind of...spoiled? I don't want to say spoiled, but she gets everything she wants. And that's Sophie's car, so she's here and she's, uh, she's...and her boyfriend Jack..."

Christine patted Raoul's right hand which was in the process of strangling the gear shifter. "I'm sure it'll be fine," she reassured him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "I'm charming!"

"You're amazing," he said, giving her a dopey smile and unbuckling his seatbelt. Then he took a deep breath, more like a man facing a firing squad than a college kid going home for dinner. "Okay. Let's go."

Raoul's house could kindly be termed Neo-Colonial, but would be better described as a McMansion. It was huge, the front of the house was brick and columns flanking the front entryway. The detached garage held space for three cars, but Raoul parked in the driveway, closest to the street. The driveway itself was paved with gray slate tiles set into concrete forming a semi-circle around a central fountain. Seriously. A fountain.

Raoul let himself in the open front door and the two of them waited awkwardly in an entryway with highly polished wood floors. Pounding feet greeted his arrival and an adorable spaniel stood up on its hind legs on a baby gate to the left of the hallway. "Oh, hey Rocco!" Raoul exclaimed, running over to pet the dog, which yipped excitedly.

"Aww, you have a puppy! When did you get a puppy?" Christine cried, rushing over and petting the dog. It was probably a few years old and so technically not a 'puppy,' but she was not hung up on such details as the dog in question licked her hand with great enthusiasm.

"Like, four years ago. Ellie and Marc are thinking about getting a dog, so they borrowed him over Halloween to see how Lucie was, I promise I wasn't hiding a puppy from you," he said and smiled looking more relaxed than Christine had seen him all night. In his polo shirt and cargo shorts, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a JC Penney catalog. Christine suddenly felt super luck that this was a guy she got to make out with.

"Raoul! Remember to wash your hands after touching the dog." Who else could have issued that order, but his mother? Mrs. Chaney was tall with blonde hair that looked too perfect to not have come out of a bottle. She was very, very thin and perfectly dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a silky lavender blouse. It took Christine a second to realize that Raoul's mom was actually average height, but loomed taller than her son because of a pair of painful looking wedge heels. "Oh!" she said, smiling broadly. It made the angles of her face look less severe and brought out a bit of a resemblance to her son. "Are you Christine? Raoul said you might come, you're just lovely."

"Thanks," Christine said, with a small, uncertain smile. Lovely? She was pretty sure every item of clothing she was wearing at the moment had been purchased at Target. What was that she said about being charming? She did not feel at all lovely at the moment, she felt scruffy and underdressed, but she accepted the very brief hug Raoul's mother bestowed upon her as gracefully as possible.

"Christine's here? It's so nice to meet you!" Mr. Chaney sneaked up on them from behind, he was around six feet, very handsome with one of those close-cropped Caesar haircuts favored by fashionable, balding men. Though broad-shouldered, he had a bit of a paunch going on beneath his own tucked-in polo shirt. He vigorously shook Christine's hand and she liked him instantly.

"Nice to meet you too," she said and continued to say for the next five minutes. An outpouring of people from the dining room flooded the hallway to hug her and shake hands, all commenting on how 'cute,' 'adorable' and 'sweet' she was. Christine smiled and tried to match names with faces.

Eloise was the spitting image of her mother, only not as slender. She had sleek blonde hair in one of those modern bobs that was longer in the front than it was in the back. Though she was dressed casually, the necklace of freshwater pearls she was wearing probably cost more than Christine's entire outfit. Her husband, 'Marco, call me Marc,' was cute in a slightly geeky way, he had dark hair and bright blue eyes shaded behind rectangular glasses. Lucie was, as Raoul said, cute as a button and perched on her father's hip. She had her father's dark hair and blue eyes that could have come from either parent. She was wearing a sundress and clutching a Dora the Explorer doll which she waved at Christine when Christine smiled at her.

Sophie was the only Chaney with dark hair, she was model-skinny and dressed in a kind of boho goth look, in shorts over dark nylons with a kind of black poncho over a tank top. There were multiple piercings in her ears and one in her nose. Her boyfriend Jack didn't say much, he just sort of grunted and nodded when Christine was introduced to him.

Philippe Chaney was the only one to give her a hug _and_ a kiss, which made Christine blush involuntarily. He looked a lot like Raoul, but taller and even more athletic. "So, we _finally _get to meet you," he said, stepping back and giving her the once-over with his eyes. "Thank God, I was beginning to think you didn't exist."

"Oh, Phil," his mother said fondly. "Don't tease your brother, you know how shy Raoul is about bringing girls over."

"What girls?" Sophie asked with a smirk. "Christine's the only one I've ever met. I swear to God, hon," she added, turning to Christine. "If he said you lived in Canada and not Massachusetts, I would have thought you were someone he paid to come with him tonight."

"Sophie, honestly," Eloise said, rolling her eyes and smiling at her little brother. "Raoul just wanted to wait to bring the _right _girl home, isn't that right sweetie?" She didn't give him a chance to answer because a timer 'dinged' distantly in the kitchen and she said. "Oh! I need to get the meat out. While it rests we can get started on the salad, okay?"

Christine did not speak a word to Raoul for the next forty-five minutes and as a matter of fact, neither did the rest of his family. They did not talk _to _Raoul as much as they talked _at _Raoul. It seemed they expected him to simply agree with whatever it was they said and when he did actually speak up, it was clear they weren't listening. If the Chaneys were just the kind of people who spoke to hear the sound of their own voices, Christine could have understood, but they listened with polite interest when Marco talked about Clouds (meaning things to do with computers, not weather phenomena), Eloise outlined a few preschool programs they were applying Lucie for in the fall and how one of Sophie's articles (she was a freelance journalist) might be published in _The New Yorker_. When Phil spent ten minute waxing poetic about the American legal system, the table seemed to hang on his every word - with the exception of Lucie who was feeding Dora half of her asparagus and Jack who'd gone outside to smoke.

Raoul seemed like more of an accessory to the table than anything else. Window-dressing, sort of. Of course, though the family was not very interested in the youngest son, that did not mean they weren't interested in peppering his girlfriend with questions.

"So, Christine, you met Raoul through your program?" Mrs. Chaney said, cutting her filet into absolutely miniscule pieces before eating it.

"Yeah," she answered and then smiled because she had nothing else to add and smiling was almost never an inappropriate response.

"So, one good thing came out of sending you to that school," his father chuckled. "That's more than I expected; Christine, how do you feel about long-distance relationships.

"Dad," Raoul said softly, speaking up for the first time in almost an hour.

"Oh, come on now, I'm just teasing you. How do you like this, Christine?" Mr. Chaney continued and it actually seemed like he was expecting an answer. "I send four kids to college, the first one, she goes for business and I'm thinking, good, good, just like her old man, Ellie, I always say Ellie's my oldest son."

"Aww, Daddy." Raoul's eldest sister rolled her eyes, but she obviously enjoyed the position of being her father's favorite.

"It's true, and Sophie, well, she's my little girl, she says she wants to major in English and Creative Writing, I say I'm not so sure about Creative Writing, why not Journalism because then - "

"You can be as creative as you want," Sophie finished, rolling her eyes as well, but it was clear she didn't think as highly of her father's attitude as did her sister. "He says that _every time _we talk about college, Christine, you're probably going to hear that quote three more times before you leave. Be prepared."

"Hey, now, I'm not finished," Raoul's father continued. "Then, of course, we have our Phil, he's wanted to be a lawyer since he was Lucie's age, always arguing his way out of trouble - sometimes successfully too and then my third son, our little baby, he wants to be an actor. Now, how do you figure that? I have on my right, a CEO and a journalist, on my left I've got a lawyer - "

"Potential lawyer, Dad," Phil said with a crooked half-smile.

"Well, if you don't pass the Bar on the first try, I'll be out a few thousand, I've got a betting pool going with your uncles. Like, I said, a CEO, journalist, lawyer and an actor. An actor! Now how do you figure that?"

He paused expectantly and Christine was struck by the uncomfortable knowledge that he actually wanted an answer. "Uh...I figure it means that you have a multi-talented family," she said and smiled.

Mr. Chaney guffawed heartily. "Ha! Well, I suppose so. Now, Christine, tell us, did your parents have a heart attack when you told them what you wanted to go to college for?"

"Oh no," Christine replied quickly. She was eager to reassure the Chaney family that not everyone's parents expected their kids to become business executives. "My dad was really excited, actually, he likes Memorial's program because it's - okay, mostly he likes it because it's local - but also because it provides a hands-on professional experience and a traditional academic grounding."

"You could write the school a pamphlet," Phil said, still smiling that curious little half-smirk. "Are you in the play with Raoul?"

"It's not a _play_, Phil, it's a _musical_," his mother corrected him, making the whole affair seem much more paltry because of it. "Do you have a big part, Christine?"

"Oh, um, kind of," she hedged, trying not to sound completely full of herself. "I'm playing Cosette."

Ellie's eyebrows went up to her hairline. "Oh, really? Wow, good for you! Aren't you lucky, sweetie, you didn't tell us you were dating the lead!"

Raoul blushed a little. "I'm really lucky," he told the tablecloth sincerely. Then, he raised his eyes and gave Christine a _very_ significant look. "I'm lucky you didn't dump me since I only wound up in the ensemble."

Now, Christine might not be the quickest on the uptake, but she knew enough not to contradict him. Instead she smiled weakly, mind whirling with thoughts of, _Why wouldn't he tell them he got a lead? Why wouldn't he want them to know? OH MY GOD WHY DID HE NOT TELL ME ABOUT THIS BEFORE? Did he not think it was going to come up?_

"That's your money's worth, huh?" Mr. Chaney interjected. "What does your father do, Christine?"

"He's a musician," she answered promptly. "A violinist, he's affiliated with a few orchestras in the Boston area."

Mr. Chaney cocked an eyebrow at her and suddenly, she didn't like him as much as she had when she met him. "Really?" She wasn't sure how to respond to that. Um, yes, really. That was her dad's job. "Huh. Does your mother work?"

"Her mom's dead," Raoul spoke before Christine could open her mouth. She blinked a little and looked at him oddly. Jeez, he picked up on the power of the 'dead mom' line pretty quick, didn't he?

Everyone's face at the table dropped. "Oh, honey, we're so sorry," "How long ago was it? You must have been so devastated," "How did she – uh, sorry, um. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Christine said, her smile all but gone. "It was a long time ago, um, cancer." Everyone tutted knowingly, like she was talking about a mutual acquaintance. Ah, yes, Cancer, up to her old tricks again, killing people's moms, isn't that just like her?

"How about dessert?" Eloise asked abruptly. "Luce, do you want to help Mommy with the souffles?"

"Yeah!" Lucie exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air to get pulled from her high chair. She was utterly unaffected by the talk of dead people. Eloise held her daughter a little tighter than necessary as she took her into the kitchen.

"El's a total Food Network freak now," Phil informed Christine and the whole mood of the room relaxed. "She TiVos it. I told her I wanted a Gregg's cake, but no, she has to make something crazy."

"It's not crazy!" his sister yelled from the kitchen. Then murmured something and a moment later a squeaky high-pitched voice piped up, "Unca Phil is CWAZY!"

Everyone laughed and the tension of Raoul's Dead Mom Bomb dissipated as though he'd never mentioned it. Marco got up to help his wife with dessert and soon everyone had their own personal chocolate souffle topped with mixed berries and fresh whipped cream.

"This is so awesome!" Christine exclaimed before she could help herself.

"Thanks," Eloise beamed. "I'll email you the recipe if you want."

Christine laughed and shook her head, "Oh, God, no. Thank you, but...yeah, my baking skills are limited to those cookies you cut off the roll and put on a cookie sheet."

"Those cookies are pretty delicious," Jack said, the first sentence Christine heard out of him all evening.

Ellie, shook her head, giving Lucie a bite of her souffle. "You know, I thought the same thing, but they make it so simple, and the chefs and cooks really spell it out. I'm honestly considering starting a catering business, I'm not kidding. I love to cook and it's so much less of a commitment than owning a restaurant."

"I'm not listening," Mr. Chaney said, shaking his head and taking a long drink of wine. "Do your dad a favor, I didn't pay for Harvard Business School just so you could run off and become a cook. Who goes to school to become a cook?"

"Daddy, chefs go to school for years," Sophie said with a wry smile. "Do you think they just wake up and know how to do all the things they do?"

Mr. Chaney shrugged. "I don't see why. Like going to school for being an actor, right Christine?"

"Um..." She honestly had no idea how to respond to that. Like, was she supposed to admit that she was wasting money on an education she didn't need to keep him happy or actually tell him the truth: that acting required a lot of work and training to do well?

Raoul exhaled and put his dessert spoon down. "Come on, Dad," he said quietly. "Lay off."

Mr. Chaney just laughed. "I'm just having a conversation, son, just asking your girlfriend if she's as wacky as you are."

"Guy," his wife whispered through a tight smile.

"Oh, you're all so sensitive, Christine, have you ever met a more sensitive boy than my son?"

"Um..."

"Daddy, leave him alone," Sophie joined in Raoul's defense. "Have you ever thought that he's not actually sensitive, but that you're actually _in_sensitive?"

"Nope, never occurred to me," Mr. Chaney said blithely.

"Oh, Raoul's sensitive," Phil said, giving his brother a jocular punch on the arm. "Did you tell Christine you cried so much when you watched _The Lion King_ that Mom threw the tape out? Mufasa's death really hit him hard – oh, sorry, is that still a taboo topic? I wouldn't want you to cry in front of your girlfriend."

Raoul just glowered at the table and grit his teeth. Christine bumped her leg against his beneath the table in a kind of 'Hey, sorry, but I'm here for you' gesture. He just tensed.

Christine's phone buzzed at that precise moment and she jumped a little.

"Do you want to take that?" Mrs. Chaney asked.

"Oh, um, I," Christine blustered, staring from the phone in her hand to the uncomfortable dinner scene.

Eloise correctly sensed her distress; call it mother's intuition. "We won't mind, honestly, I think this is the longest any of us have gone at dinner without taking a phone call."

"Okay," Christine said, backing away from the table. Her chair scraped the kitchen floor audibly and she bolted toward the foyer and out onto the front porch.

Without bothering to check the caller ID, she flipped the phone open and barked, "Hello?"

"Hey lady, wazzup?" Meg asked.

"Oh my God, you have no idea how happy I am to talk to you," Christine said in a rush. "I'm having the most stressful dinner of my life with Raoul's family."

"Whoa! He invited you over to meet La Familia? Does he think you're _engaged_?"

"I know, right?" Christine asked rhetorically. "Anyway, we're on dessert, so we're probably going to leave soon."

"Okay, well, we're out of the movie, we were going to go to Gregg's for cake," Meg said. "You guys want to come with?"

"Thanks, but no, Raoul's kind of... stressed. Because this is stressful. _So _stressful." So much for her fabulous kick-off to Spring Break, the only thing that could make tonight any worse would be getting into a car accident on the way home.

"Are they douchey?" Meg demanded. "I can so see him coming from a douchey family."

"I'll tell you later," Christine hissed as the door opened behind her. To her relief it was Raoul. "Uh, okay, see you later, Meg."

When she was off the phone, Raoul immediately started apologizing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, they're assholes, I'm _really_ sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

"No, no, it's okay, they're not that bad," Christine reassured him and managed to keep her voice almost sincere. "I'm sorry that you're upset."

"We can go, like, now, they're just going to drink and we're underage so we can leave."

Christine insisted that she'd look like a bitch if they left without her at least saying goodbye, so they ran back inside for more handshakes and hugs and kisses before the Chaneys sent them on their way, once again repeating how thrilled they were to have met her.

Raoul peeled out of the driveway at top speed. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard that Christine wouldn't be surprised if there were dents in the shape of his fingers forming in there. "I am so sorry."

"It's okay," Christine said for the thousandth time. "I mean, they probably think I'm kind of ditzy, but - "

"Oh, no," her boyfriend said, shaking his head. "They think you're great. They think I'm really lucky. They think everything was awesome."

"Really?" Christine asked incredulously. "Because I thought I was super awkward."

"No, no," he shook his head emphatically. "No, _they_ are awkward and you did the best you could. Especially with my dad. He's a dick and Phil is a complete asshole. And my sisters act like I'm five and my mom's oblivious and the _dog_ is my favorite person in that house."

Christine really had no idea how to respond to that. Her family life, while by no means perfect, always seemed good to her. Her mom was relegated to a series of happy memories and her father and Val were pretty great people who loved and cared about her. There wasn't any weird one-upsmanship or parental favorite-playing (being an only child could be _such_ a perk). "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Um, this might be a bad time to bring this up...but why did you not tell them you were Marius?"

Raoul sighed and shook his head. "Because I'm dumb, I didn't know you'd be put on the spot like that. Uh, look it's...okay, overshare. Um, basically I don't want them to come to the show. Because I don't want to be disappointed when they're not proud of me."

That pronouncement just about broke Christine's heart. "What do you mean? You're doing so great! You're going to be so good! Is it because they don't like the fact that you're majoring in theatre?"

"No," he shook his head. "I can't think of anything I've done that they've ever been proud of – even if I was going to med school or something, they wouldn't be proud of me. When I was little, I tried to do what they wanted, I took the classes they wanted me to take, I did all the same sports as Phil, but either I flat-out sucked at it or just wasn't as good as him. My grades were never as good as Ellie's and Soph just kinda gets a pass because she's the youngest girl so everyone loves her. So, when I finally chose a college, I was like, fuck it. I'll do what I want to do, but...I still don't want to know I did my best and I was happy and it _still_ wasn't good enough for them. I don't want to have to go through that."

Raoul was swallowing convulsively and kept flickering his eyes up to the top of the car. For a second, Christine was really worried that he _was_ going to cry in front of his girlfriend, but he held it together. Letting out another deep breath, he gave Christine a side-long glance and said, "Not that I want to do this again any time soon, but...do you promise you won't say anything to them?"

Looking at the honest concern in his eyes, Christine nodded and gave his right hand a squeeze. "Promise. Cross my heart and everything."

Raoul dropped her off at her dorm after a long, long hug. When she got back she fell onto bed; Meg still wasn't back, so she was spared reliving the gory details. Today had been much more stressful than she was prepared for and, her final thought before she drifted into unconsciousness was that she _still_ didn't know what was wrong with Erik.


	15. Waltz of Treachery

**AN: **For those of you who missed our dear Erik last chapter, never fear, he's back!

**abby - **Christine sure is fickle, isn't she? I think that's the one thing that unites all versions of Christine across all iterations of Phantom, she doesn't know what she wants and manages to hurt a lot of people because if it. She doesn't quite do any hem-kissing in this, but I don't blame her, I don't think Erik's been doing laundry regularly. **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **Big reveal in this chapter! I'm very curious about what you thought Erik's issues would be, though I wouldn't be at all surprised if you were spot on in your guess. I've wanted to work Raoul's less than ideal family life in the story for a while, but I couldn't find a place where it worked before now, I feel bad, poor kid is in the middle of a love triangle and he's never. **pony007 - **Ha! That's so funny that you mentioned that since I have a TON of musicals I want to see them do, top of my list is _Assassins,_ mostly because I want to see Erik as John Wilkes Booth.

* * *

><p><em>That would quite fit the bill<br>If she hadn't so often been ill.  
>Little dear, cost us dear.<br>Medicines are expensive, m'sieur._

_-The Waltz of Treachery  
><em>

There was a curious lag time at around one in the afternoon where _nothing _was on TV. Oh, there were shows, but _nothing _was on. There was Court TV for people without cable, but even Fios could not come through with decent programming. TLC (The Loony Caucasian Channel)'s line-up consisted entirely of shows about babies, the Food Network trotted out the D-List cooks who taught viewers new ways to make grilled cheese and even Bravo was only showing re-runs of their least trashy programming (did anyone even watch _Million Dollar Listing_? Anyone? Bueller?) Two o'clock brought better shows, but Erik was convinced that the previous hour was a preview of what Purgatory must be like.

Three days of lying on his parents' couch had given Erik time to contemplate the ins and outs of the universe and he was not enjoying it. Yesterday he reached that place of complete lethargy where getting up to put a DVD on seemed like an unreasonably difficult task so he watched _The Evil Dead_ three times. Once all the way through in widescreen, then with the Director's commentary, then the commentary by Bruce Campbell, then he watched the outtakes until his mother, sick of hearing the words 'caro syrup' repeated ad nauseum took pity on him and switched the disc to _Evil Dead II. _Which also watched in widescreen and again with commentary and then _The Real Housewives _came on and Maddy took over the television.

Thus far, Erik had missed three mandatory rehearsals and he had no desire or expectation of returning to the theatre before the end of the week. Ahmed was good about keeping him up-to-date with blocking changes, but Tim called him twice to harangue him about missing rehearsal when he wasn't even technically sick. The last one verged on threatening.

"If it was anyone else, Erik, _anyone else_, I would be dragging them out of the house by their hair," the director said in a voicemail which was promptly deleted. "I understand why you don't want to come in, but you could sit in the back and at least _watch_. You are not an invalid. If you want to have a career, you need to be able to brush some things off to do what you have to do."

Brush it off. Right.

The worst part, Erik reflected as he stared mindlessly at the television for the fourth straight day, was that he brought this on himself. If he hadn't missed his last scheduled phlebotomy, if he had taken the proper precautions before he went out and postered the town, he might even now be in rehearsals leading the revolution. Instead, he was lying on the couch watching _South Park_, which was a waste of time because he felt so depressed he couldn't even bring himself to laugh at it.

Then the doorbell rang.

Erik assumed it was some delivery for his parents, so he just turned the volume up on the television and ignored it.

It rang again.

Dammit. His parents were both out, Maddy was at rehearsal and Charlie was putting his engineering genius to work trying to idiot-proof the turntable. If the delivery guy took the package back to FedEx or whatever, they'd be pissed when they got home and had to drive off to pick it up. Considering how everyone's lives were revolving around the show right now, it might actually be something they needed for _Les Mis _and Erik would look like the world's biggest jackass if his bad mood caused yet another aspect of the production to fall by the wayside.

Sighing, he heaved himself off the couch and made his way to the front door, stooping to look out the peephole. "Just leave it on the - " he began, then stopped when he saw who was outside. "Christine! What the hell are you doing here?"

What the hell _was _she doing there? Christine wasn't sure what possessed her, she'd been on the highway, heading for home when she got off at the Cranston exit and found herself on Erik's street. She didn't do this, showing up unannounced on people's doorsteps was very much not in character for her, but she hadn't heard from Erik in a few days and Ahmed was being unreasonably cagey about the nature of his ailment. In short, she was worried and wanted to check on him for her own peace of mind before she departed on her mini-vacation.

And she tried to explain that as coherently as possible. "Um. I was...well, no one's seen you in a few days and I'm leaving for home tonight and I wanted to see you before I left. And maybe get you soup if you need soup."

There was a long pause behind the door. "Not possible."

"Are you contagious?" Christine asked. "I promise not to breathe too deep."

On the other side of the door there came a gentle repetitive thudding sound. It was the soothing rhythm of Erik knocking his head against the wood. _Why? I mean, seriously. Why me? What have I really done to deserve this? _For one brief moment, Erik really thought about throwing the door open, but nothing good could come of it. Best case scenario she fainted. Worst case she threw up all over him and he'd just showered.

"I'm very contagious," he lied, his heart not really in it. "I think it's Ebola."

"WHAT? ARE YOU - oh. You're kidding." Christine shuddered nevertheless. She read _The Hot Zone _in high school and it scared the crap out of her. She wouldn't even go near the monkeys at the zoo anymore. "What's really wrong? And stop hitting your head on the door, it's not good for you."

Erik sighed, loudly. "Look, Christine, I appreciate you coming over to check on me, but it's better for both of us if you just go home. I promise I'll be back at rehearsal next week and I won't die or anything."

"What do you mean, 'better for both of us?'" she asked, standing up on tip-toe, trying to see him through the peephole. It didn't work, but it was worth a try. A lightbulb lit above Christine's head and she rocked back on her feet. Oh. Well, yeah, if Erik was sick and home alone all day, he probably wouldn't have put his prosthesis on. She didn't put shoes on if she was just hanging around at home. It was a very similar situation. "Is it because you don't have your...uh..."

"Well, there's that," Erik said, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, I don't care about that," Christine said in a rush. "I'm sorry I was so weird about it in New Hampshire, but if you'd just _told_me rather than getting hysterical like you do, I would have been way less of a spaz."

_Like hell you would_, Erik thought uncharitably. "And if I tell you that I look disgusting right now and that when I went to the dermatologist on Friday people - people who have their own gross skin conditions to deal with - stared and moved seats like I had the fucking plague, you'd still be less of a spaz?"

'Stared' was a really kind way of playing down the looks of horror he was getting in the waiting room. Granted, most people were there for suspicious moles and acne treatments, not to have pus-filled blisters lanced on their faces and hands, so he could understand the horror, to a degree.

On the other side of the door, Christine was silent. Maybe she'd left.

Leaning his forehead against the door, Erik said, very quietly. "I understand why they did it and I don't blame them - I really don't blame you for freaking in New Hampshire, there have been worse reactions, but I would really, really rather not go through that again."

Christine felt like she was experiencing one of life's great turning points. If she got in her car and went home like Erik wanted, she felt certain that she'd be throwing some important part of their friendship away. To hear him talk about himself like that upset her as did the implication that whatever was wrong with him was too much for her to handle. She was forewarned this time. Forewarned is forearmed. She could deal.

"I came to see you and I still want to see you," she replied at last, with a note of resolve in her voice. "Anyway, you _still _haven't burned me that song. I'm getting a little obsessed with it, I don't think that's healthy."

"I've totally burned the song," Erik retorted. "It's on a mix CD with some of his other stuff, I'll slip it through the mail slot."

"Erik," Christine sighed. "You really don't trust me at all, do you?" She sounded so _sad_. And the truth was, nope, Erik didn't really trust her. He lived most of his life in perpetual fear of being abandoned by everyone, so he usually went out of his way to pick fights and lash out before anyone else could land the first blow. He had good reasons for this behavior, but Christine didn't know any of them, nor should she. It wasn't her fault.

"Okay," Erik said at last. "Let me go get the CD."

He was a long time coming back since he ran upstairs to brush his teeth and put real pants on. There was nothing to be done about the face and he made an effort not to look in the mirror for too long before he grabbed an empty jewel case and popped a CD labeled 'Christine Mix' hastily scrawled on it in Sharpie inside.

Meanwhile, outside, Christine was bracing herself. Honestly, how bad could it be? Her imagination went kind of wild, she imagined everything from mild abrasions to the skinless dude from _Hellraiser_. Imagination was always worse than reality, right? Erik was gone so long she began to think he wasn't coming back when she heard the lock slide back and the door opened just a tiny crack.

_Okay, Christine. Breathe. It's just Erik. Whatever you see, don't you dare scream._

Erik had been careful to keep his right cheek turned out, in vain hopes of minimizing the damage. The day was overcast and the hall lights were on, which probably didn't help the look of his skin in the slightest. He heard Christine's sharp intake of breath and looked up just in time to see her wide eyes before she clapped her hands over her mouth in contrition.

Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. He shoved the CD in her hand and turned her around, guiding her to the door with his right hand. "Okay," he said briskly. "Thanks for stopping by - "

"I'm sorry," she immediately replied, and meant it. Swallowing visibly she turned around and looked up at Erik's poor face, trying to keep her expression neutral. "I'm just...what happened? Are you okay?"

He did not even remotely look okay. The nose was off and that crater in his face was drawing her attention exactly as it had done in New Hampshire. She'd hardly gotten more than a glimpse and it had been dark. Today she noted that he did have some...bone or something dividing the space where his nostrils should have been. Somehow, that was more bizarre than the illusion of an empty hole. That wasn't the worst of it though, his skin was mottled red and sickly looking and the left side of his face was covered with crusty yellow sores, some scabbing over as though they'd been recently bleeding. He wasn't lying. Erik looked really disgusting. When Christine dropped her eyes so he wouldn't think she was staring, she noted that his left arm and the top of his hand had similar injuries.

"I'm fine," he said shortly. Christine shot him an unconvinced look. "No, really. It just looks bad. II drove around without sunscreen for too long last week. This is the unfortunate result. Don't worry, I'll be back to normal by showtime."

Christine was having a hard time processing. "...so that's, what, like a sunburn?" she asked weakly, eyes flickering up and away at the nastiness that was his face at the moment.

Erik sighed, "Essentially. Or, rather, the aftermath of a sunburn. Anyway, I hope you like the CD, have a good vacation." Turning away from Christine, he went back into the living room and looked past the TV. Maybe he should turn the overhead lights off, it would seem they were causing eyestrain. Tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes and he'd rather not have salt in his still-healing wounds, if he could help it.

Weirdly, Christine followed and sat down right next to him on the couch – on his bad side, so clearly she was trying to prove some kind of point. "Is that why you've been kind of...unavailable? Does it hurt?"

Erik wasn't sure what to say and he felt his face grow warm under her close scrutiny. "Not much, I've had worse," he said, shifting slightly away from her. "But, yeah, it's why I haven't been around. Good timing though, with spring break just around the corner. I didn't even miss much class. I think Tim wants to kill me. He seems to think that I'm well enough to go to rehearsal. You could do me a favor and let him know that while you managed not to lose your breakfast, other cast members might not be so hardy."

Christine bit her lip and seemed to be forcing herself to stare at him. Erik found it incredibly off-putting to be looked at so intently while he was in such a state. So much so that he got up and off the couch deliberately positioning the whole oozing sore part of his face away from Christine's line of vision. "Okay, so you made your point, you can look at it and you didn't vomit, don't you have to be in Massachusetts?"

"Does it hurt?" she asked, not getting off the couch and addressing the question to his back.

Erik closed his eyes. This was just...awful. Worse than he'd anticipated, even taking Christine's admirably restrained reaction into account. If she was just another girl, if Charlotte - okay, this was stressing plausibility, but if Charlotte came over offering to buy him soup and insisted that she look on him with her own two eyes, it would be more or less fine. Because Erik did not have a debilitating crush on Charlotte, he didn't care if she gave him the co-mingled look of Pity and Compassion that was most people's go-to after Unrestrained Horror. But on Christine? It was a particularly sadistic kind of torture.

"Yes," he said quietly. "A lot."

He heard her getting up off the couch and he wished she'd do the tactful thing and get out, leaving him to his misery, but Christine was, as ever, full of surprises. An instant later he felt her arms go around his waist and her face pressed against his back as she gave him a hug. "I'm sorry," she said into his t-shirt. "That sucks."

Maybe it wasn't the most eloquent turn of phrase she could have employed, but sometimes, 'I'm sorry, that sucks,' is all that needs to be said. All that can be said. Those four short words, said so sweetly and with such sincerity managed to push Erik over the teetering brink of emotion. His cheeks stung a bit as a few tears fell from his eyes.

It wasn't fair. It did suck. And Christine was sorry. Maybe he should resign himself to pity, if pity was the best he could hope for.


	16. Look Down

**AN: **I'm not super satisfied with how this chapter turned out, but we'll be getting back into your regularly scheduled rehearsal programming next week. I guess Spring Break throws everything out of whack in the real world and so it does in storyland.

**Alexis - **Thank you for the thoughtful comments! I've hinted a bit that Raoul's home life is not easy and while his family isn't evil, really, they're just not supportive. His dad is probably a fun golfing buddy, but if he doesn't get something, he really doesn't get it. In a way, Raoul and Erik are equally in need of love and cuddles and understanding from Christine, but for very different reasons, as we've seen. It makes it tough for me to choose a side in this love triangle, honestly ;-) **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **He appreciates the sympathy! The reaction he's been getting from friends/family is all just some variation on, 'But you're not REALLY sick,' since, from their perspective, if you don't have the flu, you're basically fine. Getting stuck with needles is not fun, Erik's usually feeling crappy afterward...which gives me another idea about torturing him in the next chapter... **Orestes Fallen - **I was wondering where you were! I hope you had fun on vacation! Like I said above, I'm not thrilled with this chapter, not sure how it holds up to the emotional wallop of the last one, but I hope you enjoy it!

For all my other readers - Thank you for sticking with me! It makes me very happy to see my stats tick up, if you ever have a minute, drop me a review, I do love to know what you guys think!

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><p><em>Look down and see<br>The beggars at your feet.  
>Look down and show<br>Some mercy if you can.  
>-Look<em> _Down**  
><strong>_

Poor Erik.

That had been a sort of mantra running through Christine's head while she was home. Not the whole time, certainly, there were long hours spent eating at restaurants, going to a concert her dad was playing in, watching TV and generally zoning out on the internet where she didn't even think about Erik once. It was during the silences, the moments in between, waiting for the waiter to come back and take their order, stopping at a red light, washing her mouth out with Listerine before bed that the thought came back.

Poor Erik.

Christine didn't know he was _sick_-sick. Like, actually had a physical condition that would never ever go away. She couldn't even imagine that. Even people she knew who had been seriously ill either got better or passed away. Terrible? Yeah, but at least there was an end to it. Living every day with a chronic condition that might flare up if you weren't careful sounded like some kind of hell on earth limbo. She couldn't even imagine what that would be like. And Erik got a double-whammy of both the mental and physical kind of illness.

Once again: poor Erik.

Also, poor Raoul. Was that what his family was like every time he went home? He said they'd never said they were proud of him, had it been like that ever since he was a little kid? Christine could not fathom living her life without anyone ever saying they were proud of her accomplishments. The main dudes in her life were having a shitty, shitty week, no doubt about it and Christine was at a loss for how to make them feel any better.

When they were out on a clothes-buying spree, Christine had the chance to talk it over with Val. She liked having heart-to-hearts with Val, since she wasn't her biological offspring, she felt like her dad's lady-friend, while not less invested in her overall well-being than her father, would be less disappointed in her when she revealed that she might be royally screwing her life up.

"It's just that I feel so _bad_," she complained through a dressing-room partition, frowning at herself in the mirror. The sundress she picked out looked really adorable from the waist-down, but sagged in the bust. No good. "I want to help."

"Oh, Chris, please don't tell me you want to fix them," Val pleaded and Christine could practically hear the roll of her eyes as she spoke. "Their problems are not your problems."

"But they're so _sad_," Christine lamented as she struggled to unzip the unflattering dress. She was starting to sound like a country song, '_I feel so bad, they feel so sad_.'

Val threw a sweater over the dividing wall and it fell at Christine's feet in a lump. "I look like Grandma Moses in that, but try it on, I think it'll be cute on you," she said. "Anyway, honey, it's nice that you have empathy, but it's not up to you to fix your boyfriends."

Christine froze at the word "boyfriends." "No, Raoul's my boyfriend, Erik's just my friend."

"Okay, so Raoul's the one you're sleeping with and Erik's the one you're emotionally involved with?"

"VAL!" Christine squeaked indignantly. The ease with which Val spoke about all matters sexual was both liberating and slightly squicky. "I'm not sleeping with _either _of them - " _Yet_, not sleeping with Raoul _yet_, but she was both hopeful and anxious that they'd get there someday. "And I'm emotionally involved with both of them since we're all friends and stuff. It's not like I'm cheating on Raoul because I care about Erik."

"I never said that. Personally, I don't think there's anything wrong with going with two boys at once, you're in college, it's practically required. Poke your head out and tell me if this looks good," Val said, and Christine obliged, her face a little pink. Val was taller than her and round in places Christine was not. She'd have no problem filling out a cute sundress. Currently though, she was wearing a not super-flattering pair of skinny jeans.

Christine gave an honest assessment. "Your ankles look very cool. Um. But you look a little like a V."

Val frowned in the mirror and nodded. "You're right. I wrote off tapered jeans after the '80s, it's a rule I should stick to. So, here's what I think you should do: Date them both, don't try to change them or act like you need to take on their problems and I think you'll all be very happy. And if you have sex, use protection."

That advice was exactly the opposite of helpful. "I'm very happy just dating Raoul," she said with confidence.

Val just smiled at her. It was the sort of expression that she liked at the end of these talks. It was a smile that was without judgment which might convey, 'God, you're such a smart, mature kid, I'm so pleased to have you in my life and I'm so glad you're making all the right decisions,' or, 'I think you're completely wrong on this one, but I'm so pleased to have you in my life, even if I don't think you're making all the right decisions.'

"I'm sure he's a sweetheart," Val concluded and deftly switched topics. "So, when do I get to meet him? We should have him over for dinner!"

Christine froze half-way through the door of her stall. "Uh, maybe not _dinner_."

As they returned clothes to the racks and paid for those items they deemed worthy of purchase, Christine related the woeful tale of the dinner from hell she'd experienced at Raoul's place.

"That's why we should have him over for dinner," Val suggested without irony during the walk back to the car. "So he can see what normal family life is like. I'll make falafel!"

It didn't even cross Christine's mind to suggest that a vaguely Middle Eastern vegetarian spread with a widower and his live-in girlfriend might not be exactly normal. "Maybe, but I don't want him to think I'm putting him under any pressure. It's like Meg said, dinner with the parental-types is something people do when they're engaged."

Val snorted, "Oh, that's cute. Let me just make sure I understand: emotionally blackmailing you into dinner with his entire extended family is his idea of a casual night out, but a free meal with your dad and me is rushing things?"

"It wasn't emotional blackmail!" Christine insisted. "He just...really, really wanted me to go and I felt bad saying no." She fiddled with the car's CD player and removed Adele's _21 _album from the dashboard, replacing it with the mix CD Erik had given her. "Could you tell me if you've heard this song anywhere? Erik made me a recording, but he's being weird about telling me who actually wrote it and I want to track down more of his stuff."

Val took the abrupt change in topic in stride and paid polite attention to the opening strumming of the guitar as she eased the car into park. The squealing of breaks momentarily overpowered the music when she heard the lyrics. "Oh my God," she muttered, recollecting herself after a moment and easing the car out of the parking lot. "I think I'd remember hearing a voice like that."

"Oh, that's just Erik," Christine said casually, like having a friend whose voice could stop traffic was no big thing. "The whole CD is him doing covers. He's kind of a narcissist that way."

Val turned to her with a look of utter incredulity on her face. "Honey," she began slowly, as though she was going to say something Christine might not want to hear. "I'm sure Raoul's a nice kid, really I am, but..._why _are you not dating Erik, again?"

Christine blushed bright red. "Oh, God, um, well, he doesn't...I don't...uh...he's weird," she finished lamely. _He doesn't have a nose and he's super tall and skinny and sometimes his face explodes in sunlight. Also he's a little crazy._ All perfectly valid reasons to _not_ want to date someone, but speaking them aloud would make her sound childish. "And maybe asexual. And I'm _happy _dating Raoul. So, you don't recognize this song?"

As though she hadn't heard her last question, Val continued, "Nope. How asexual are we talking? Sherlock Holmes-asexual or Data from _Star Trek_-asexual? Because _if _you're not looking to date him, I'm sorry, but I might have to try to seduce your friend."

Christine pulled a face. "Ew. Don't even go there. I'll tell Dad."

"Chris, once he hears this, I can't guarantee that your father won't want to date him."

Back in suburbia, unaware that he might be unwittingly starring in his own personal remake of _The Graduate_, Erik was experiencing a renewed sense of purpose. He'd still not left the house, but he was no longer lounging on the couch watching DVDs, instead, he was downstairs working on his computer, cleaning up some tracks he'd recorded. Mixing in a few other voices would lead to a better rounded and more robust sound. Maybe he'd see who was in town over spring break and ask them to come in for a recording session. Once his face cleared up a bit.

Christine's visit had filled its intended purpose: She'd cheered him up. It did not follow that in cheering him up, she prompted him to actually put shoes on and go down the street for a cup of coffee. Just because Christine managed to keep her head about her when confronted with his utter grossness did not mean anyone else would and Erik was still too embarrassed to venture out into the world without feeling like a huge freak. So he stayed inside, but at least he was trying to be productive.

His phone buzzed next to him just then and he smiled when he saw Christine's face pop up on his caller ID. "Hey," he said, a smile in his voice. "Miss me already?"

"Oh, I so did. I've been crying myself to sleep every night," she replied seriously and Erik laughed.

"You've mastered sarcasm!" he crowed proudly. "I knew I'd rub off on you!"

There was the muffled sound of another voice nearby and Christine said, "Okay, okay, I'll tell him." Then, her voice returned to full volume on his end and she informed him, "My dad's girlfriend wants me to tell you that you're awesome."

That was...unexpected. "Oh. Um. Thanks...Valerie? Is that her name?"

"Yeah, Val," Christine confirmed. "We're listening to that CD you gave me, she loves it - she loves _you _basically - "

"Tell him I want you to have lots of sex and babies!" Erik heard _that _clearly enough.

Christine, on the other line, was clearly mortified. "OH MY GOD! NO! No, I will NOT tell him that! Jeez, sorry Erik, she's...uh, you didn't hear that, did you?"

"Hear what?" Erik supplied quickly because if there was one person he didn't want to discuss sex and babies with, it would be Christine. "So, you like the music?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's great," Christine said distractedly. Val's commentary had clearly rattled her. "Um. So, that's that. Just wanted to say it was awesome and stuff. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure," Erik said, feeling the corners of his mouth curling into a grin. Christine was just so _cute _when she was flustered. He set the phone aside with a chuckle. That was a conversation to store away in the memory vaults when he wanted to tease Christine and make her squirm. She'd turn beet red and bite her lip and basically be the most adorable thing in the room. Making people uncomfortable amused him and making Christine uncomfortable gave him tremendous pleasure because she was always so preoccupied with not offending people that she'd expend a great deal of energy trying to keep her cool. Which, naturally, made her look even more uncomfortable.

Shaking his head, as though to dislodge the image of how prettily Christine could blush, Erik returned to his music. The CD he'd burned for Christine consisted largely of old recordings, mostly covers he'd done of songs he enjoyed from artists and bands he thought she might like. There were some obvious picks, like the female folk artist Dar Williams and indie pop sensation Rufus Wainwright, but he also threw in some Radiohead and Pink Floyd, for variety. The few compositions of his own that he sprinkled in the mix, he didn't identify.

And why not? Call it PTSD.

As if on cue, his phone rang again. Assuming it was Christine calling him back, Erik picked it up without glancing at the screen. "It's been _too _long," he gushed.

There was an odd pause on the other end of the line. Then, a voice that was most assuredly _not _Christine's responded with a nervous sort of laugh before saying. "Not the reaction I was expecting."

Erik's throat went dry. Pulling his phone away from his ear, he couldn't help but see the called ID and his eyes confirmed what his ears already knew.

**HELLSPAWN DONOTANSWER**

Without another word or a sound, he ended the phone call. Heart thudding a mile a minute, he impulsively threw the phone onto the couch. It buzzed again, a call from the same number, but Erik didn't pick it up, he bolted upstairs, leaving the sound editing program up on the computer and settled himself back on the couch in the living room. He didn't look at his phone again for two days.


	17. The Robbery

**AN: **Much happier with how this chapter turned out, so happy in fact that I didn't want to wait until Friday to post it! Hope you all enjoy this little mid-week update!

**Orestes Fallen - **I've put a few mentions of the 'Hellspawn' character in some chapters in this fic (most prominently at the end of 'What Have I Done?'), but they haven't been a major plot point (yet). Suffice it to say, it's someone from Erik's past he'd rather forget existed. I'm glad you like Val! I've wanted to shoehorn her into the story long before this, but the time never seemed right. And yes, she's a little loud and embarrassing, but what parent-types aren't? I promise, I will do my best to use the whole soundtrack, no more, no less. I can certainly throw in plenty of randomness to bulk up the story and if necessary, I'll edit things down so it will fit (even if editing isn't my strong suit). **Abby - **Mystery person is very, VERY loosely inspired by the rosy hours of Mazenderan - VERY loosely. My Erik, is unfortunately, not an assassin for hire ;-) Probably better for him since we saw how poorly he fared in the last chapter's fistfight. As for a love square...you could call it that. You could definitely call it that... **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **I know you're going to be cross with me, but more info on Hellspawn will have to wait (not TOO long, I don't think, but there is a wait involved). And yep! Phlebotomies are the suck, especially when you're as lax about your general health as Erik is. **LadyAutreVita - **I know! Always check the caller ID! Ahmed specifically put it in there to AVOID situations like this!

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><p><em>Please M'sieur, come this way<br>Here's a child that ain't eaten today.  
>Save a life, spare a sou<br>God rewards all the good that you do.  
>-The Robbery<em>

The cool weather that rang in the end of March was slowly climbing back up into the 80s by the beginning of April, just when everyone was getting in from Spring Break. Freddy was convinced that meant God hated him, Charlotte muttered about 'global warming' when she pulled out the tank-tops and flip-flops in the morning and Christine was relieved to be getting back to her air-conditioned dorm.

She left her dad's house more confused than she had been when she arrived. Usually chats with Val managed to clear her head, but not this time. Additionally, her father decided Erik was his new favorite person, sight unseen. Val demanded a copy of the CD, which her dad immediately stole from her and took it to work with him to share with his colleagues.

"You said he put the whole thing together himself?" he asked, calling her on his lunch break.

"Uh-huh, I think so," Christine answered.

"Do you know what kind of software he uses? The sound quality is excellent - he did all this from his _basement?_"

"Yeah, um, I guess," she replied. At the time they had this conversation, she was untagging unflattering pictures of herself from Facebook. Most of them were from the Global Warming Party and she was kind of nippletastic in a few of them. Very embarrassing. There was a cute one of her and Meg on a tire swing that she kept. Erik was in the corner of the frame, grinning deviously - he was an enthusiastic pusher, the beach was spinning when they got off.

"Do you have his email, Chris? Do you know if he takes commissions?"

Aww, there was an adorable picture of Erik and Ahmed. There was a jungle gym that was shaped like a boat at the beach and the two of them climbed to the top. Ahmed was 'steering' and giving the camera his best sneer while Erik was pretending to hit whoever was taking the picture with a cannon.

**You guys make pretty awesome pirates! **Christine commented after 'Liking' the photograph. The next picture was largely the same only the focus had been enlarged to include the 'bow' of the ship. Charlotte had pressed herself against it and struck a pose like she was a figurehead.

**Char, you are the sexiest! **Christine typed and made a vague noise in response to her father. "Hmm...yeah, I have his email. I don't know if he takes commissions, I'll ask him when I see him at rehearsal tonight."

'If' she saw him at rehearsal and in Christine's mind, that was a big 'if.' When she saw Erik last week, she couldn't lie, he looked _really _bad, she wasn't sure he would be healed up enough to make it to rehearsal. And even though her head told her that Erik staying home because he was having some kind of epic sunburn was unnecessary and shouldn't matter, in her heart of hearts, she didn't blame him.

Not screaming was a bit of an accomplishment that morning, to be honest. He looked gnarly, no question and it's one thing to know in your head that one person's weird skin disease isn't contagious, but quite another to be looking at crusty sores up close and personal without sidling away just a little bit. It was hard to imagine that Erik would be back to normal after a week. Also, he'd been ignoring her phone calls.

Once Val was out of earshot, she called him back to chat, but got no response. Another call a few hours later yielded similar results. So she texted him a few times, but it was Friday before she got a very short message: **Sorry I've been MIA. Shitty last few days.**

Christine reassured him that was fine and they talked for a few minutes on the phone Saturday, but it was clear that Erik's mind was other places. She assumed it was because he was still not feeling up to Tuesday's rehearsal. It was kind of a big deal, they were going to be in the main auditorium running scene changes involving the turntable. They'd yet to run the entire show start to finish and Tim decided that run-throughs would go more smoothly once the scene changes were set. He was probably right, but it promised to be a long and boring night.

A long and boring and _hot _night, to be precise. The temperature climbed into the 90s during the day and showed no signs of letting up as dusk fell. Christine was wearing a short sundress and sandals, but she was beginning to think a swimsuit would have been more appropriate. There was a heat haze coming off the sidewalks and when she walked into Memorial, it was like stepping into a sauna.

"Oh my God," Charlotte groaned as the doors closed behind them. "What is this? Seriously, what the hell is this?"

John, their Javert, walked over to them, wearing a thin white t-shirt and shorts. "The AC's broken," he replied, looking incredibly irritated. "And no, before you ask, rehearsal's not canceled."

Christine could feel the sweat running down her back already. "Um, does anyone want me to run to Dunkin' for iced coffee?" she asked, reasoning that she didn't need to be onstage until half-way through Act 1. And Dunkin' Donuts would have air conditioning.

"You're an angel," John said in relief. "Yes please. Let me gather the troops and take their orders."

Charlotte new better than to believe this was all altruism on Christine's part. "You sneaky bitch," she said with a sly smile as she rummaged through her purse for coffee funds. "I kind of hate you right now."

Christine grinned cheekily at her. "You could come with me, I can't carry coffee for forty by myself."

"Tim's going to want me on standby," she rolled her eyes. "We're so not getting to the factory scene before seven, I bet you five bucks we won't get there before seven - "

"Bet you ten we won't get there before quarter to eight."

Both girls whirled around. "Erik!" they cried in unison. Christine gave him a once-over immediately. His face had cleared up a lot, but she could still see patches of still-healing skin. Luckily the color faded down to something resembling his usual pallor.

"Are you feeling better?" Christine asked, trying to be delicate about the situation. She noticed that his left hand was bandaged and he had gauze wrapped around his elbow. It was the first time she'd ever seen him wearing a t-shirt without a longer shirt underneath it. His wrists were incredibly thin and his hands seemed overly large by comparison. She was beginning to understand Erik's fashion choices better now.

Erik shrugged. "I'll be fine. Did I hear something about coffee?"

"Yeah!" Christine chirruped cheerfully. Charlotte was openly gawping at Erik - obviously, she didn't think the improvement was as great as Christine did. "Do you want coffee? Or a donut? Or a bagel?"

"Yeah, a donut would be awesome," he said kind of vaguely. It seemed he hadn't noticed Charlotte's wide eyes and open mouth. "Or a Coolatta. I could go for a Coolatta. And a donut, I like maple frosted." He dug around in the back pocket of his jeans for cash and handed Christine a crumpled (and slightly damp) five dollar bill. "Ye gods, it's fucking hot," he muttered sotto voce.

"The AC's broken," Charlotte replied, snapped back into the moment by having information to convey. "Can you believe it? I think it's a sign we shouldn't rehearse tonight."

Erik's mouth quirked into a little smile. "Heh, you think? Maybe it's the ghost fucking with us."

"Ghost?" Christine asked, but whatever answer Erik had been about to give was interrupted by the majority of the cast pouring into the lobby waving 5s and 10s around like they were at a moderately classy strip joint.

"Christine, you're a doll, an absolute _doll_," Geoff said, giving her a side-hug since it was too hot for real embraces.

"Do you need someone to come with you?" Ann asked. "Of course you do, Meg, go with Christine."

"Okay!" she eagerly volunteered. "The kids can come with, I like putting children to work." The 'kids' were Nora and Luis the actors playing Young Cosette and Gavroche. Nora was twelve, as Maddy complained about, a little _too _precious to be considered cute for long, as they walked down the street, she skipped along and bragged about her dad always let her have iced mochas before school and she didn't ask for extra chocolate because that was for little kids. Luis was maybe a year younger, but a lot more tolerable and insisted that they cross at the crosswalk since to do otherwise would be jaywalking and jaywalking was illegal.

As they waited for their order to be filled, the children chatted about which _Diary of a Wimpy Kid _book was their favorite and Meg whispered to Christine, "So, I heard you braved the wrath of Erik the other day."

"He wasn't so much wrathful as he was...um...woeful," she replied with a shrug. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

"I'm surprised he let you in the house, when we were kids and he had a flare-up like that, he wouldn't come into school for, like, two weeks. I was shocked he turned up at rehearsal."

"Me too," Christine admitted. "Poor guy, though, that sucks."

"It does," Meg agreed. "Especially since he was just trying to help out with the show, did he tell you what happened? Tim had him collect checks from the sponsors and put up posters and he got stuck in traffic for, like, half an hour. There really wasn't anything he could do."

"He cares a lot about this theatre, huh?" Christine commented. "Filling in for Gaspard, doing errands for Tim."

Meg nodded. "Yeah, I mean, at the end of the day, this is, like, all he has. He grew up here - literally. We both did, I guess, but Erik was here all the time. Tim took him to work when he was a baby when his mom was too crazy to take care of him."

"What?" Christine asked, startled. She knew his mother was kind of dramatic and high-strung, but 'crazy' seemed to be an overstatement.

"Oh yeah," Meg commented, like it was no big deal. "Maddy had PPD like whoa - I'm younger than Erik and my mom was kind of freaked that she'd get the same thing, but no. She didn't leave the house, she wasn't eating and when he got sick, it was _so _much worse. Charlie still had to work in New York and he didn't want to leave her alone with Erik, so Chester and Tim stepped up and did most of the parenting until Maddy could get herself together."

"That sounds awful," Christine said, her voice practically dripping with sympathy. "He was sick as a baby?"

Meg nodded. Usually she was not so open about sharing elements of Erik's personal life without his permission (which he never gave), but knowing Christine had gone to see him when he was all goopy broke down a barrier of sharing in her mind. "That skin condition he has now, it's called porphyria...um, something, I forget, I Googled it a while ago, but he has some rare form. Usually it's something you get when you have Hep-C or liver damage, but he's had it forever. I think he had jaundice when he was born - he was a little yellow - and the doctors were all, 'Oh, let him have some sun, he'll be fine,' so they did and then he got those gross blisters like he gets and Maddy and Charlie didn't know what to do, so they took him to the ER, which is such a mistake because, hello, germs. So one on his face got really infected and they had to take him in for surgery and they wound up cutting off his - " At this point in the story Meg just gestured toward her face, which was all the explanation Christine needed.

"Oh, jeez," she whispered. Poor Erik. Poor, _poor _baby!Erik. She thought back to those pictures of wee!Erik pounding on an organ and playing with Legos and she rather wanted to cry.

"Yeah," her friend nodded knowingly. "I guess Maddy had been kind of a mess before that, but this freaking tipped her over the edge and Charlie couldn't take time off because of the medical bills. That was when Tim and Chester stepped in. I'm serious, they basically saved both their lives."

"Wow."

"He's had...kind of a bizarre life. When we were little he'd get sick a lot - not so much anymore though, I think he's caught everything there is to catch. But when we were in middle school, all of his...uh, personality disorder stuff started to get more serious than his regular medical stuff, so that was shitty, but when we got to high school, things were way better. Uh, well, except for last year, but he's doing _so _great now." Meg paused and surveyed Christine seriously. "I think that has a lot to do with you. You're so nice to him about all his crazy baggage. I mean, Ahmed and I have known him since day one, practically, so we're more used to it than anyone else, but for you to not know him and then to be so cool about everything is really awesome." She bit her lip and looked a little embarrassed. "Like when you visited him at the hospital during Christmas, that was amazing. I've kind of wanted to say thank you for a while, but I thought it might sound weird."

Christine was touched by Meg's showering of praise. "Oh, wow, um, thanks, but I didn't...I don't think I...I'm just trying to be a good friend."

"You're a fucking fantastic friend," Meg said, smiling. "Like, if there was a trophy for friendship, I'd give it to you. Christine Daee - Number One Friend."

Laughing, Christine shrugged. "Eh, you're not bad yourself," she nudged Meg with her elbow. "Um, but if it's not nosy of me to ask, what happened to Erik last year? You said he had a bad time."

Meg's face darkened. "God, it was terrible. He wouldn't want me to tell you, but honestly? Pretty much everyone else knows and - "

"Erik's really cool," Luis piped up, drawn into the conversation with the Adults by mention of their mutual acquaintance. "He taught me how to turn my eyelids inside out." And he proceeded to demonstrate, to the amusement of both Christine and Meg, but Nora's disgust.

"Well, he taught _me_ how how to make a quarter disappear in my elbow," Nora said. "It's more civilized than seeing your eyelids. Erik _said _it was more civilized."

Just then their order came up and Christine and Meg were too busy balancing bags of sweets and trays of coffee (not to mention listening to the one-upsmanship of the Unofficial Erik Fan Club) to continue their discussion.

When they got back to Memorial, they were still in the midst of the prison scene. Christine's heart sank and she accepted that it was going to be a _very _long night. They were running huge fans, but because the auditorium was a giant windowless room, all they were doing was blowing more warm air in the actor's faces.

Tim was standing in the audience, mopping at his face with a handkerchief. "Okay, let's get the men off again, Geoff, just make sure you're on your mark when John exits, otherwise you won't be in the light as they're going off."

Geoff nodded and brushed sweaty hair off his head. "Okay. Take it from 'My name is Jean Valjean?'"

"Yeah, no need to sing it," Tim reminded him. "Just...get through it."

Christine's eyes wandered from the downstage conversation to Erik and the other prisoners upstage. He looked, really, really awful. She could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and his shoulders were slumped in exhaustion. Ahmed stood a few paces down left of him and kept throwing worried glances in his friend's general direction.

Erik was definitely worthy of worried glances, he felt just _horrible_. This was probably his comeuppance for skipping rehearsal when he was feeling fine and dandy. Now he was queasy and light-headed. The room kept tilting at an odd angle and there was a black and white static haze hovering at the edges of his vision. Over and over he repeated the mental mantra, _I will not throw up. I will not throw up. I will not throw up_.

Breathing heavily, he tried to console himself that it was just because he'd had blood drawn and he'd be able to sit and get some water in a minute. It was just so damn hot on the stage, it made everything so much worse. A buzzing was starting in his ears and his head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton balls. He barely heard John give the cue for the turntable.

"And I'm Javert. Do not forget my name. Do not forget me - "

The ground lurched under his feet and Erik did not hear anything else as he crumpled to the ground in a dead faint, eliciting a gasp from everyone in the house.

Raoul, who was a swing in this scene and happened to be standing closest to Erik noticed him sway and fall, as if in slow motion. All during rehearsal so far, he'd been edging away from him since he looked kind of ill and Raoul couldn't afford to get sick right after spring break (and what was up with his face?), but when he noticed him passing out, his body sprang into action before his mind caught up. Rushing over to his castmate, he managed to grab Erik's shoulders and catch him before he smashed his head on the ground. Marveling at how light he was for such a tall guy, Raoul kind of eased him down on the floor as Ahmed rushed over, his face chalk-white.

"Hold turntable!" Tim shouted, running toward the stage. "Someone get an ice pack!"

"Oh God, is he okay?" Geoff asked, turning around, eyes wide. "It's this heat, it's really awful. We shouldn't be rehearsing in this heat."

"It's not just the heat," Ahmed muttered, elevating his unconscious friend's legs. Raoul was kneeling on the ground with Erik's head awkwardly in his lap, his heart was racing and he had no idea what to do. In the movies his sisters made him watch when someone fainted, you loosened their collar and gave them brandy or smelling salts. He had neither and Erik wasn't wearing a collared shirt. As he silently panicked, Raoul jumped a bit when he felt a warm, heavy hand descend on his shoulder.

"Good save," Charlie said, handing Raoul an ice pack. "I owe you one - can you get that under his neck, please?" Raoul just nodded and did as he was told, sliding the freezing bag beneath Erik's head, holding it in place with his knees. Charlie knelt down on the stage next to Erik, grabbing his wrist and taking his pulse.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Tim asked, hovering on the edges of the scene and glancing at the surrounding cast with impatient eyes. "Take ten, everyone! Get a coffee or something." Reluctantly, the rest of the group made their way off the stage and into the wings or the lobby. Christine was the only one who remained, hovering nervously at the edge of the stage behind the orchestra pit.

Charlie was quiet a minute, then shook his head. "No, he'll be fine, he's probably just overheated and I'll bet you ten bucks he hasn't had enough to drink today."

Tim shook his head and closed his eyes. "I shouldn't have bugged him about coming in before he was ready."

"It's not your fault," Charlie replied automatically, not taking his eyes off Erik's face. "If he needed to sit down, he should have said something, he needs to not push himself so hard - ah. Okay, Erik. Come on, wakey-wakey, buddy."

Erik's eyelids fluttered a minute and he took in a deep breath, letting it out in a groan. "This is _embarrassing_," he mumbled weakly.

"It sure is," Charlie said, unable to help the smile that spread over his face. Hey, he was conscious and speaking coherently, it was the best a father could ask for. "No - don't get up yet, I'm going to get you some water."

"I thought I ordered a Coolatta."

"I have that!" Christine piped up behind them. "Um. But maybe water first. Listen to your dad."

Charlie smiled at Christine and got up. "I knew I liked you," he said, making his way backstage in search of water. Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and followed Charlie offstage without providing any explanation about where or why he was going, though presumably it was to reassure the rest of the cast that Erik was fine.

"Did you eat anything before you went to the doctor's?" Ahmed asked, though he felt he already knew the answer.

"They gave me cookies and apple juice," Erik replied from the floor, eyes closed.

"And before that? Did you eat breakfast?"

"Does leftover pizza count - sorry, whose lap am I on?" He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of Raoul's concerned face. "Oh. Hey. What's up, Raoul?"

"Not much - uh, not _you_," the blonde boy replied in a weak attempt at a pun. Erik found the joke unexpectedly hilarious and giggled.

"Raoul totally caught you, Superman-style," Ahmed informed him, which only made his friend laugh harder.

"Really?" Erik asked, the corner of his mouth curling into a lopsided grin. "Well, thank you kindly, sir." Then, as if to prove he was _really _fine, added with a faux Southern accent, "Ah have always depended upon the kindness of strangahs." One thin, bandaged hand reached up and stroked Raoul's cheek.

The aforementioned 'Superman' smiled uncertainly and blushed, trying not to flinch away. "Uh, well, I kind of had to. It's sort of a long fall for your, uh, head."

Erik smiled and closed his eyes again. "True. A concussion might be fun, though."

Ahmed turned his head to look at Christine and rolled his eyes. This was always the way with Erik: minor medical emergency, then he cracked a few jokes, imitated a 1930s movie star and it was back to business as usual. Christine hadn't quite mastered the ebb and flow, however because her blue eyes went wide and she hopped onstage, kneeling next to Erik.

"No, no concussions are _not _fun," she scolded him, idly brushing some hair away from his sweaty forehead. "Not fun."

"Fire bad, tree pretty," Erik replied enigmatically. Then he opened his yellowish eyes and smiled at her. "Really, I'm fine, I'm just naturally melodramatic. Nothing to worry about. Fit as a fiddle, me."

"That's debatable," Charlie replied, returning with a cold water bottle. Drawing an arm under Erik's shoulders he instructed him to get up - _slowly_- and take a drink. Erik obliged and shakily walked offstage and settled into one of the plush chairs in front of the stage. Christine sat down next to him, bringing his Coffee Coolatta and a donut. Erik accepted them with thanks, but Christine did not rise from her chair as he expected her to once she saw he had his order. It would appear she was determined to make sure he finished his snack, the way she was looking at his wrists made him downright uncomfortable.

"You're so thin," she said, half to herself. "Do you not eat?"

"I'm eating now," he said, taking a bite of donut and giving himself a maple frosting mustache in the process. "I've had three meals today, in fact, it's a personal best."

Christine gave him a look of fond exasperation. "Pizza, cookies and a donut aren't three meals, they're like, one and a half meals."

"I think the Coolatta has the caloric content of one meal," Erik pointed out. He was drinking it with his right hand, probably to keep it from sweating on the bandages which covered his left. When he brought the beverage up to sip from, Christine's eyes went wide as she noticed something else on his arm that was usually hidden by his long-sleeves: thin scars bisecting the flesh of his inner arms and wrists, only slightly darker in color the rest of his skin. It would be easy to miss them if she hadn't been looking.

Erik hardly seemed to take note of her gaze, he was staring at the stage, watching the turntable rotate back into place as they proceeded to run the transition again, this time minus one prisoner. "John's completely blocking Geoff from here, he should be more upstage," he murmured. Then he turned to Christine and smiled. "Sight lines should only be an issue for people in the cheap seats, right?"

Christine's smile came only a minute after Erik's own and she decided that bringing up whatever led to him cutting was not something that was appropriate now. The poor guy had been through enough today. Without really thinking about it, she sighed and lay her head on his shoulder, hooking her right arm around his left in an odd little hug. "Everyone cares about you so much," she whispered. "You know that, right?"

Erik regarded her oddly for a minute. If Christine was positioned differently she would have felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He opened his mouth and seemed to want to say something game-changing, _And just how much do you care, Christine Daee?_

Instead, all he managed with a quietly voiced, "If this is a ploy to get some of my donut, it's not working."


	18. Javert's Intervention

**AN: **You guys. I am very impressed with myself. I seriously thought I would not be able to upload today's chapter, but here it is! This one's more light-hearted than the previous few. Also, was there some issue with FFNet not allowing signed reviews? Nearly everyone's just listed as 'Anonymous' on my end.

**Anonymous 1 - **Wee!Erik had it tough, it's true, but at least he got love. I've always felt that the Susan Kay portrayal of Erik's mother was unnecessarily cruel. In Leroux, he just calls her his 'poor, unhappy mother,' I don't remember him saying anything about her physically abusive. I know he says she used to cry and turn away when he asked for a kiss and throw him his mask, which just sounds like terrible depression to me. Luckily, Maddy was able to get help and shape up, even if she's not Mother of the Year. And hee! I'm seriously loving all of Erik's nice interactions with Raoul. They have next to nothing in common and don't understand each other at all, it's precious. I'll keep your slash approval in mind ;-) **Anonymous 2 - **Thank you! **Anonymous 3 - **Ha! I WISH he'd said it, it would have opened up this whole can o'worms, but he just WOULDN'T. I was like 'Come on, Erik, just say it and make her uncomfortable and THEN make a joke,' but he was like, 'Nope, I'm hiding my feelings with humor.' He's so emotionally immature. **GiantGreenGiraffeeAttack - **Aww, poor Luis, he's just a chubby, adorable Hispanic boy. How can you hate that face ::pinches cheeks:: Heh, as for Raoul, Erik's Southern Belle routine is hard to resist. Phlebotomies not fun, I know plenty of people who get woozy after just having a blood donation and he's got to do it to the threshold of anemia add heat and a fainting spell is inevitable. The same thing happened ALL the way back in part one, when they were setting off fireworks, but Erik covered better. Also...okay, not much more about Hellspawn in this chapter, but I promise you will get more information in the _next_ one. Cross my heart.

* * *

><p><em>Another brawl in the square<br>Another stink in the air.  
>Is there a witness to this?<br>Well, let him speak to Javert._  
><em>-Javert's Intervention<br>_

Erik was not looking forward to repeating any of yesterday's episodes of sweating and swooning, but that was exactly what was on the rehearsal schedule. They'd managed to block transitions for Act 1 and now had to run Act 2, which meant more time for him sweltering onstage because the AC had yet to be fixed the the heatwave showed no signs of letting up. Coupled with the nasty shock of unexpected phone calls from the Root of all Evil (Meg's nickname for him was longer than Ahmed's more concise 'Hellspawn'), he did not think his constitution could handle any more nasty shocks.

If he was being completely honest, there was one thing he would keep from yesterday - Christine's little arm-hug and statement that everyone cared about him. Not to be schmoopy and sentimental, but in the moment, it meant a lot. If he hadn't been such a pussy about it, it could have meant more - no. No, who was he kidding? He accepted that Christine cared about him as a friend, maybe a brotherly-type, but it wasn't as though she had _feelings _for him. The most romantic thing that happened to him yesterday was falling into Raoul's arms and he just wasn't Erik's type. He was Christine's type and Erik was fairly positive that the two of them could not be more physically, intellectually or emotionally dissimilar.

Being that he was still slightly anemic after his last phlebotomy, Erik hitched a ride with Freddy to rehearsal the next day, stepping from the glare of the scorching sun outside to the sauna-like atmosphere of Memorial Rep inside. Tim's shiny red face greeted them in the doorway. Before he opened his mouth to greet them, Erik inferred a few things, from the set of his jaw and the sweat-stains under his arms.

"The turntable's broken," Erik said flatly.

Tim didn't have the energy to look surprised. "Yep," he replied, nodding grimly. "It's probably the heat causing the wood to expand. We're working on it, but until we get it fixed, I'm going to need you kids to..."

"Chill out?" Freddy supplied helpfully.

Tim shot him a withering look. "Ha. Ha." Then without another word to either of them, he strode back inside the auditorium.

"I don't know how this day could get any worse," Freddy muttered, mopping his face with the lower half of his t-shirt.

"Did you know the polar bears aren't coming back to Roger Williams Park?" Erik asked randomly.

His friend closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. "Oh my God. Why even say that to me?"

"Hey, dudes!" Jamie shouted from the other side of the lobby, all sunshine and smiles. This was entirely unappreciated by both boys since, in their opinion, they'd already had all the sunshine they could take. "Come into the green room, we're playing strip poker."

Erik and Freddy exchanged dubious glances. "That seems like a terrible idea," Freddy said at last.

"No, it's a really good idea," Jamie countered. "It'll take our minds off the heat and we'll slowly get naked so we're not as hot as we were! It's only the best idea ever. Come on, Meg and Ahmed are totally doing it."

Freddy and Erik exchanged another look and finally Erik shrugged. "Eh, never let it be said I don't cave to peer pressure."

They'd just managed to locate a deck of cards and settled in a small circle on the floor when Raoul walked in. "Hi guys," he said, looking around the room curiously. "Where is everyone else?"

"Mostly at Dunkin' or the library enjoying the air conditioning," Meg replied. "We're pioneer people, we can take the heat."

"Want me to deal you in?" Erik asked shuffling the cards with a practiced ease. "We're playing for clothes, not cash. And we won't make you buy a coffee or read a book to justify your presence."

Raoul looked about uncertainly; he and Erik were not on what you'd call 'friendly' terms, but he hoped they'd at least graduated to the frenemies category. Especially after he totally stopped him from braining himself on the turntable. That didn't mean he was comfortable wagering clothes against him. Still, Freddy, Jamie, Meg and Ahmed were playing, so how dangerous could it be?

"Sure," he said cautiously, sitting down with a smile. "I'm probably not going to do so great, I don't really gamble."

"Not even scratch tickets?" Freddy asked curiously.

Raoul shrugged. "Not really, I got about twenty of them for my birthday, I think I won ten dollars. I didn't bother turning them in. I didn't think there was a point."

"Sure there was," Meg said wisely. "You buy more scratch tickets. It's how they get you."

"They who?" Erik asked, dealing the cards out.

"The house," Meg said sagely, arranging her cards. "The house always wins."

As if on cue, Ahmed started humming "Master of the House" until Erik silenced him with a look. "Sorry," he said, sheepishly. "It's hard to avoid."

Jamie rolled her eyes and threw down two cards. "Two please – also, I don't know how you're sick of the music, it's beautiful, I could listen to it forever."

Sighing in a what-fools-these-mortals-be kind of a way, (it's a specified sort of sigh which should only be attempted by a professional), Erik said, "Meh, I couldn't."

Freddy snorted and rolled his eyes, "Yeah right. I'd like to see you do better. Pass."  
>Erik raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, looking up from the deck, his voice oddly excited.<p>

Ahmed asked for three cards and shook his head, "No way, don't even think about re-writing _Les Mis_."

"Why not?" Erik asked and, no, he wasn't being rhetorical. "Personally, I think the story is stale. It needs some revamping. Possibly with steampunk."

Freddy was totally prepared to be scornful, until he thought about it for a minute. "That...actually sounds pretty cool."

"Is steampunk still a thing?" Meg asked. "Or has it been appropriated by hipsters?"

"Everything's been appropriated by hipsters," Ahmed said. "If we were going to pass everything up that had been appropriated by hipsters, we'd have to move to the arctic and live in igloos." After a thoughtful pause he added knowingly, "There are no hipster eskimos."

"What's steampunk?" Raoul asked, eyes darting around. He hated that he was so often out of the loop, even after a semester of seeing these kids practically every day.

"It's...complicated," Erik replied. "Basically, the coolest things about the 19th century, airships, aviation...steam-powered trains and machines and monocles and spats and goggles. The goggles are the most important."

"Like...Victorian robots?" Raoul attempted to clarify.

"Kind of," Erik said. "Does anyone want to bet?"

"So...you'd do robots in _Les Mis_?" Raoul asked, apparently totally uninterested in betting. "That could be cool. Like those mashup books? _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ and _Abe Lincoln: Vampire Hunter_?"

"I'll bet my left shoe," Ahmed said, but Erik was staring at Raoul with a dazed almost reverential expression. "Erik? Dude? Left shoe?"

"_Exactly_ like a mashup book," Erik said, setting his cards aside, still looking at Raoul in absolute delight. "Raoul, you are a _genius_. That's just _perfect. Les Miserables and Cyborgs_, wouldn't that be _awesome?_"

Meg had to concede that it did sound awesome. "Like, the students lead a robot revolution?" she asked.

"Oh, it would be _so_ much more complicated than that," Erik said excitedly. "Okay, so, let's say the French aristocracy is rich and bitchy, let them eat cake whatever and Valjean steals bread, just like he does in the book, only rather than breaking rocks for twenty years he gets experimented on by the government and becomes a _cyborg_."

"Like Robo-Jean," Jamie supplied excitedly.

"Yes, Robo-Jean!" Erik agreed. "Someone get a pen and write this down, I am having an absolute _epiphany_. Okay, so he's Robo-Jean and Javert is his...I don't know if he'd be his creator since he's religious and that would be too much like playing god for him to be comfortable with – oh, but we can make this fit into his whole world order thing, so he doesn't think the cyborgs have souls and he's there to keep them in line, but Robo-Jean escapes captivity because he's a badass and then he runs into the priest and the priest is all, 'I love all God's creatures, here's some silver, go make a better man of yourself!' And Robo-Jean is super touched so he makes good and becomes the mayor and runs into - "

"Robo-Fantine!" Raoul exclaimed, getting into the flow of the narrative.

"No, just regular Fantine," corrected Erik, shaking his head. "We can keep her backstory, but she loses her job at the factory because the workers are being replaced with cyborgs and so she has to go whore herself out since no one wants to have sex with a robot (yet, anyway). But you know, even in steampunk France, they haven't cured syphilis - "

"And Javert would have totally been demoted after Robo-Jean escapes," Ahmed interjected, finding himself enthralled by the idea, despite the fact that he thought Erik was working too hard lately. "And the 24601 can be, like, a robo-serial number. On his chest."

"Brilliant!" Erik crowed. "And yeah, so he goes to arrest her and Robo-Jean is all, 'Stop this!' because he's noble and stuff and, um, he saves Fantine and that guy who's stuck under the cart. And Javert - "

"Ooh, I think instead of lifting the cart off that guy he should blast it with his laser eyes or something," Jamie interrupted.

"But that would be a total giveaway that he was Robo," Freddy argued. "They they couldn't have a confrontation over Fantine's corpse."

"Well, if they have cyborgs, they can have laser guns or something," Meg replied in the spirit of compromise. "Or Javert can just leave before...but then he wouldn't be suspicious of Robo-Jean? Okay, never mind Jamie, maybe not laser eyes."

"He can have laser eyes later," Erik reassured the young dancer. "Just not when he moves the cart. Anyway, Fantine dies and Javert's like, 'Oh, Monsieur Le Mayor, we caught a rogue Robo and now he's going to be broken down for parts.' And Robo-Jean is like, 'Oh shit, I can't let that happen to an innocent Robo!' So he rips his shirt off and reveals his gleaming Robo-pecs and his serial number and Javert is like, 'Shit!' and Fantine dies and while he and Javert are having their showdown he blasts out of the house with his laser eyes and goes to get Cosette."

"Is Cosette Robo?" Raoul asked.

"No, she's not Robo – ooh, but _Marius_should be," Erik said with a wicked smile. "The forbidden love between humans and Robos, that's good stuff. Is anyone writing this down?"

"I totally am," Freddy said, furiously scribbling in a notebook he pulled from his backpack. "So the students are..."

"A motley crew of humans and Robos who want to throw off the oppressive French overlord scientists and form a new future where humans and Robos can live in harmony," Erik said definitively. "It will be _so_ badass. _So_badass."

"You need to write this," Meg insisted and the others nodded their heads vigorously.

"Oh, I will," Erik agreed.

"Yeah, Erik, you are seriously not allowed to die or anything until this shit gets done," Freddy added.

"I will not," Erik vowed seriously. "If I decide to off myself, you will find a libretto for the show in lieu of a suicide note."

In the time it took to abandon strip poker in favor of re-writing a classic of French literature to include more sci-fi mayhem (Erik mentally composed the refrain of a touching ballad to be sung between Robo-Marius and Cosette as they worked out the finer details), the turntable was assembled back into working order.

The rest of the cast trickled morosely into the theatre, clearly not happy about leaving behind the air-conditioned 21st century for the sweltering heat of 19th century France.

"Think of this as method acting," Ann advised them. She had the task of dramaturging this monstrosity, so she knew what she was talking about. Then again, she was on her way to grab coffee and a reprieve from the heat. "There was no air-conditioning in France and the students' rebellion was in June. It was probably hot."

"I don't like method acting," Sorelli complained, fanning herself with her script. "Can't we pretend they had air conditioning in France?"

"No," Armand replied. Then he paused and continued, philosophically, "I feel like a lot of history's bloodier events could have been entirely avoided if people had air conditioning."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, people would have less reason to leave their house, which automatically means less conflict," he pointed out. "And sometimes I think people get pissed and start wars because they're hot. Look at the Middle East."

Ahmed gave him a look that was half-way between disgusted and intrigued. "You think that thousands of years of geopolitical and religious conflict can be boiled down to the fact that it's hot in Mesopotamia?"

"Well, not _all_of it," Armand acknowledged. "But probably some."

"How do you explain Russia?" Erik asked.

Armand was quiet for a minute. "I don't," he said finally.

But there was no more time to discuss the impact of the weather on world-wide conflicts and crises, there was a musical to rehearse. The barricade boys (and ladies) were stuck onstage for the bulk of the afternoon and with every spin of the turntable, the actors became visibly more and more wilted.

"Fuck it," Sorelli announced suddenly, her ordinarily olive-toned skin flushed red with heat. In one movement, she pulled her tank-top off and stood onstage in shorts and a dark purple bra.

Charlotte did a double-take. "Are you serious? What are you doing?"

Tim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sarah, please put your shirt back on," he requested, but his tone was so defeated he seemed to know it it was a losing battle.

"I wear less on the beach," she said defensively. "It's _hot_, Tim."

"I know it's hot, but we're not at the beach, we're at a professional rehearsal."

"I'll take my shirt off," John offered.

"John, don't encourage them," Tim said warningly.

"No, really," he said, grabbing the neck of his t-shirt for swift removal. "This is a professional rehearsal and the professionals are hot, so let's professionally make ourselves more comfortable."

Geoff was also unbuttoning his shirt, "I think if Jean Valjean does it, it's okay," he offered by way of an explanation. "I am the nicest man in France."

Tim slumped his shoulders and headed for the wings. "Fine. Whatever. Go ahead. Everyone take ten and get naked, I'm too hot to argue."

"You might feel better if you took your shirt off," Luis piped up, having already tossed his _Iron Man_t-shirt into the wings. If the grown-ups got to take their clothes off, he sure as heck wasn't going to be left behind.

"My shirt is staying on," Charlotte said firmly.

"Well, good for you, honeybear," Meg groused, peeling her damp tank-top off with a flourish, "but some of us are less modest."

"Some of you have less of a reason for modesty," she said, giving Meg's rather flat chest a pointed look.

"Aww, sweetie, no one cares," Jamie said, giving her an encouraging shoulder-pat, then added in a whisper, "No one's complaining about Geoff's man-boobs - his might be bigger than yours."

"Whoo-hoo, naked time!" Delia, one of the BA students hollered. Even sourpuss Lauren seemed relieved to join in the shedding of clothing. It was a heatwave miracle, to see the BAs and BFA joined together in a moment of solidarity, even if that solidarity was giving their director a headache.

Jamie's encouragement did get Charlotte to crack a smile, but she was resolute that her tank-top remain firmly in place. The boys, once John removed his own outer layers stripped down to their bare chests - well, except for Erik. He'd lost the bandages on his left arm, but still was reluctant about getting half naked in front of his classmates. In fact, once he'd gotten an eyeful of the toned physiques of Andrew and Raoul, he folded his arms and pulled a Charlotte.

"No way," he shook his head. "No way am I taking my shirt off."

"What's going on?" The voice of a scandalized Christine Daee piped up from the dimly lit house. "Are we doing _The Full Monty _now?"

"Okay, now I'm _definitely_not taking my shirt off," Erik muttered, glancing in Christine's general direction. Ahmed seemed to be the only one who heard him and he just grinned, tugging on the back of Erik's shirt.

"What, you don't think she'll take one look at your collarbone and run into your arms?" he muttered in his friend's ear.

Erik elbowed Ahmed in the stomach. "More likely she'll check out my spinal cord and think, 'Hot damn, that's one straight back and a guy who doesn't have scoliosis is a guy for me.'"

"Come on Christine!" Jamie yelled from the stage, throwing her arms back and twirling around in her bra. "It's liberating!"

"It's _hot_," Meg added, always the practical one. Christine paused for a minute, then shrugged and pulled her own shirt off.

"It _is_hot," she agreed.

"Oh, come _on_!" Charlotte exclaimed. "You're not even _in _this scene!"

"If you can't beat 'em, Char..." Sorelli goaded, putting an arm around her friend's shoulders.

Charlotte shoved her off, "It's too hot for affection."

"Not if you take your shirt off!" Freddy said, coming up and hugging Sorelli from behind. "Share the love, Char!"

She eyed her half-naked classmates and then looked at Erik, eyes settling on the final hold-out in the nudity rebellion. "I'll do it if you do it."

"I'm not doing it, so I guess that's that," Erik said with false levity.

"Aww, you're among friends!" Jamie exclaimed. "No need to be shy."

"You're awfully interested in getting everyone naked today," Erik remarked suspiciously. Jamie just blushed and didn't say anything.

"Don't make me start a chant," Freddy warned him. Then under his breath, started one anyway. "Erik, Erik, Erik - "

Erik glared at him and reached for the hem of his shirt. "Fine, god, it's like being in a sideshow around you people."

Charlotte seemed quietly relieved that she didn't have any more excuses for staying overly clothed. She took her blouse off, but didn't toss it away, instead she bunched it up her her arms and held it over her stomach which had prompted her mother to affectionately refer to her as 'gordita' since she was three or so. Turns out she needn't have been so concerned, since everyone's eyes were locked on Erik's exposed torso.

"Oh my god, you're so skinny!" Christine exclaimed before she could help herself. "Seriously, eat a sandwich!"

"Okay, shirt's going back on," Erik said, pulling at his shirt so it was no longer inside-out. 'Emaciated' was, perhaps, too strong a term to describe his body, but he was teetering on the border between 'slender' and 'underfed.' His spine was, as he said to Ahmed, rather prominent along his back and his ribs were more visible than was entirely pleasing along his side and chest. He had some wiry muscles, probably from years of dance, but his hipbones were slightly visible just over his jeans and his long, thin arms and hands gave him the look of a half-clad Tim Burton character.

"Oh, no!" Christine said, looking immediately regretful that her mouth worked faster than her brain. "No, really, sorry, you don't have to, I'm a bitch!"

"Aww, you're not a bitch," Meg said, consolingly. "Erik's just too sensitive."

"I am not sensitive," he lied through his teeth. "I'm just not thrilled about standing up here to be ridiculed next to Adonis and Eros." He indicated Raoul and Andrew with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Who?" they asked in unison.

"He just compared you to Greek gods," Sorelli explained. "I think he's flirting."

Erik gave Sorelli a dirty look and began pulling his shirt back over his head.

"Uh, I have weird chest hair," Andrew offered. "Like, really weird, it only grows on one half so I shave it. Everybody's got issues, dude."

"Listen, I appreciate the sympathy," Erik said in a tone that indicated he did not appreciate Andrew's attempt at sympathy at _all_, but Freddy snatched his shirt out of his hands and threw it over the barricade.

"The best way to work out your issues is to confront them head-on," he advised, throwing his arms around Erik and enveloping him in a sticky hug. Mostly so Erik couldn't raise his arms to strangle him. "Anyway, at least you don't have tons of freckles. I have tons of freckles. It's like Andy says, everyone has something."

Tim returned at that moment, with a coffee Coolatta in hand, looking scores happier than he did when he left. Caffeine worked wonders, on occasion. "Okay, people, get the extra clothes off my stage and if you're all quite comfortable, let's get down to some _rehearsing._"


	19. Stars

**AN: **Hey gang, a bit of an early update for you! I can't see myself having time to send this chapter through on Friday (comprehensive exam for my master's on Saturday, I need to hit the books!), so I thought I'd spring it on you the day before. This is another long one, but I really can't see how to break it up without losing some of the flow or making the next chapter SUPER short. I struggled a lot with the second half of this chapter, the first part was easy to write, but Erik will always insist on being a problem child when I try to get inside his head. I suppose it comes with the territory.

**Anonymous 1 - **Aw, thanks! Hey, better late than never, right? I appreciate you taking the time to drop me a line. I am of the firm opinion that Erik needs more hugs, they'd be hugely beneficial to his health and well-being. I'll just make Christine hug him for you, he's all about hugs when they're from Christine. **Abby of the Cellars -** Yay for signed reviews! Regarding everyone being flip about Erik's suicide comment, I agree that in general when someone has a history of self-injury that those things can't be brushed off, but his friends know Erik has a morbid sense of humor in general and that particular comment was just him telling a bad joke. Ahmed is especially good at figuring out if Erik is just being Erik or if he's implying something more serious. Since Erik's been doing so well recently, he decided to let it go since he knew if he made a big deal out of it, Erik would get all upset and they'd have a miserable afternoon. Robo Jean_ is_ Erik's Don Juan just a little bit, I should post more of the Les Mis and Cyborgs discussion as a deleted scene, at one point Erik got a little carried away and decided the show would be totally epic if it was also ON ICE, but I thought that might be too much. I don't have that much scrapped from this part of the story, not as much as I did for 'Company,' but if I had deleted scenes, I'll take them on under the story I already have going. **Anonymous 2 - **(I have a feeling this might be Orestes Fallen) Ha, glad you liked it! It has been so disgustingly hot recently and theatres, in general, are awful in the summer since they're these horrible windowless boxes with bright lights. Forget Erik's torture chamber, he should have just tied Raoul and the Persian up onstage in the middle of July. As for Les Mis and Cyborgs, if I had one jot of musical talent (and I didn't think Cameron Macintosh would sue me) I'd so go for it, but for now it is just a dream. **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **Erik SO disagrees that he's best naked. He would much prefer to be in one of the three outfits he owns, thanks very much. I really hope you like this chapter since you've been waiting and waiting for some Hellspawn action and I feel (a little) terrible with all my foreshadowing and teasing. As for Christine coming to the doctor's with him, I like the idea of him being all 'Meh, needles' and her being all, 'OMG NEEDLES!' but he'd never EVER want her to come and she wouldn't volunteer unless he needed a ride and then she'd stay in the car. Because, as you've rightly deduced, needles squick Christine. But keep the plot bunnies coming, I always need inspiration!

**Disclaimer - **Haven't written one of these in a while, as usual the pop culture references and media don't belong to me and neither do two of the songs I'm quoting from this chapter, they're the property of Dar Williams and Rufus Wainwright and the people who distribute their materials. I'm just referencing them because I love them so and I think Erik would too. The lyrics to Christine's song (and its absurd title) are my creation.

* * *

><p><em>So it has been, so it is written<br>On the doorway to Paradise  
>That those who falter and those who fall<br>Must pay the price.  
>- Stars<em>

As part of an effort to make friends and influence people, Christine and Freddy decided to announce at rehearsal that The Bistro would be hosting another open mic night the following week if anyone was interested in attending and/or performing. Cammie, their Eponine, was all _kinds _of excited about debuting some spoken word poetry, but since she was a graduate, her enthusiasm was not shared by the majorities of BAs. A few said some variation on, "Sounds cool, maybe I'll be there," and the rest ignored them.

"Baby steps," Freddy said encouragingly to Christine as they walked into work together. "Not our fault if they want to be anti-social."

Christine sighed and tied her apron behind her back. "I know, but I feel like we were kind of rude to them before and I don't want them to think we're total dicks."

"We have our moments," he shrugged. "We've been sweet as pie so far, if they can't forgive and forget, that's their problem."

'Sweet as pie' was not really the word Christine would use to describe their behavior, but she didn't want to get into a tiff about it. Anyway, the BAs weren't making it easy to like them, she overheard a few of them laughing over Erik's emaciated frame and fainting spell - the term 'manorexic' was thrown around - and had to run out of the corridor where they were gossiping before she said something insulting that she couldn't take back which would damage inter-college relations even more.

Poor Erik, though. Her friend would probably be insulted if he knew how often his name was preceded by that descriptor in her mind, but she couldn't help pitying him a little. Every time she saw him she just wanted to give him a big hug, but couldn't because he'd want to know why and then she'd have to say she felt bad that he was such a sad baby and that wouldn't go over well.

The stage area was set up and Christine was on drink duty. The list of tickets in front of her dwindled as she filled orders quickly before the performances began. It seemed the words had gotten around that open mic night was a pretty hip event in this part of the Ocean State, so the coffee shop was more packed than Christine had ever seen it. Though it stretched her to the limit of her milk-steaming abilities, she consoled herself with the thought that she'd be making a ton of tips.

She'd actually just emptied out the overflowing mug which held her gratuities for excellent service when she saw that there was another drink waiting to be made. Medium hazelnut iced coffee with two shots of espresso, whole milk and extra sugar.

Ooh, that meant Erik had come! She knew he'd attended the last open mic with the guys, but she wasn't sure if amateur evenings were really his thing. Apparently they were.

"Hold off on that one," Crystal, one of her fellow employees, told her. "He said he'd pick it up when he was done with his set."

"Erik's performing tonight?" Christine asked excitedly.

Crystal didn't seem nearly as impressed. "Uh, yeah," she said slowly, as if Christine was mentally deficient. "Since he said he'd pick it up when he was done with his set."

Now that the night was in full swing, most of the coffee shop's patrons were sitting at tables, drinking coffee and eating pastry, so Christine was able to relax as she tidied up her station and watched the performances. Cammie was good as her word, bringing the house down with some truly kick-ass spoken word. Two mediocre singers followed and one guy who described himself as a "rock-star flautist" before she saw Erik peel himself out of the shadows and make his way to the performance area.

He took a seat on the provided stool, fiddling with the mic to get it to a comfortable height. Erik was dressed, as ever, in black, black jeans, black motorcycle boots, black t-shirt, black sweater, like a hipster Johnny Cash. His acoustic guitar was the only thing that _wasn't _black and looked as a result, it clashed a little with his ensemble. People paid him the same vaguely polite attention they'd shown the other performers, chatting quietly as he set up, but lowering their voices as he tuned the instrument and gave them a quick intro to his first song.

"Hey," he said quietly. The room fell into a hush at that moment and Christine was reminded of the slightly dazed feeling she got the first few times she heard _that _voice come out of _that _boy. It was uncanny, she remembered. "Bear with me for the first number, it's an original composition of mine, working title is "Can't Handle Romance, I Stop, Think, 'It's Never Eurydice.'" It's an acronym.

_The picture in my mind of you is fading on its shelf. / Christ, I need to touch you soon or I'm gonna lose myself. / Met a man, paid the price so he'd take me where you are. / Vowed there's nowhere I won't go. Man laughed, 'Kid, this one's far.'"_

Christine was bowled over when she heard the first verse and thought, _Oh my God, Erik's a plagiarist! _The song he played was the same one she'd listened to on repeat in her car stereo, the one he sang for her on the beach in place of Taylor Swift, the song by unknown internet artist, the song he took a month to burn onto a CD for her. He said it was by someone who preferred to remain anonymous, who dabbled in YouTube, now he was claiming credit for it? It seemed so...unlike him.

Almost immediately Christine realized she was being stupid, Erik knew she was working, he'd never tell such an obvious lie in front of her. That left only one explanation: _He _was the mysterious songwriter she couldn't track down on the web. Crazy. Then she thought about the song title, which he'd included with a slip of paper in the jewel case with her CD and how he mentioned it was an acronym.

C.H.R.I.S.T.I.N.E. Christine.

_Holy shit, Erik wrote me a song. That. Is. So. AWESOME._

Another ticket popped up out of her receipt printer and Christine was snapped out of her flattered reverie. She couldn't quite shake the warm, excited feeling that was bubbling up inside her. _Erik wrote me a song_. Who did that? Seriously, what girls had songs written about them - scratch that, what girls had genuinely _good_ songs written about them? Although, now that she thought about it, what about this song reminded him of her? She was pretty sure it was about a guy selling his soul to the devil to get his dead girlfriend or something. Maybe it was because they watched _Faust _together?

"_Sold my soul for the chance to reach you / I sold my soul; I'll bet you never knew."_

Gah, whatever. Erik wrote her a _song_. She just needed to accept the awesomeness without overthinking the lyrics

"Large iced chai!" Christine sang out brightly, unable to help grinning even as she had to project to make herself heard over the thunderous applause, shouts and whistles which followed Erik's first song. _Her _song. God, she couldn't wait to tell Val about this, she'd flip. Erik was quietly tuning his guitar and seemed to hardly notice the praise.

"Thanks," he said into the mic, shoulders rolling in a shrug as if he was saying, 'Jeez, guys, it wasn't THAT great.'

"Simmer down though," he smiled a little nervously. "I've still got two more to go. This next song was released just this year by a very talented folk artist named Dar Williams." There were a few cheers from the crowd, evidently some of her fans were in the house that evening. "It's from her album _In the Time of Gods_, it's called "You Will Ride With Me Tonight." It was inspired by Hermes, who protected travelers and was the messenger god of the dead. She imagines him as a biker. Keep that in mind and this song might make a little sense.

_Have you called before your time? / __Rest your head against me, __I'm a friend to travelers."_

This song was faster than Erik's own composition, the beat made it seem downright peppy by comparison even though it was yet another song about someone making a journey to the underworld. Christine wondered if that was a consciously chosen theme or if Erik was so morbid by nature that all his favorite songs were about death. She hoped not.

"Hey, is that my chai?" Christine had been so busy listening to Erik and wondering about his mental health that she neglected to hand over the drink when its owner appeared to take it..

"Uh, yeah, here you go, sorry." She did a double-take when she got an eyeful of her customer. He was one of the most freaking gorgeous guys she'd ever set eyes on, ever. Taller than average and lean, but not Erik-skinny, he had thick dark hair that was swept over his broad clear brow in a carefully styled devil-may-care sort of way. He had dark brown eyes behind Buddy Holly glasses which might look geeky on someone else, but which combined with his chiseled jaw made him look way smart. His lips were parted in a little half-smile and Christine literally _felt _her knees go all jelly-like. Whoa. Hot tamale.

"No problem," he said, stabbing the top of his beverage with a straw. Christine's gaydar _pinged _a moment later when she realized that his stubble was very neatly groomed and his eyebrows appeared to have been manscaped as well. Not that straight guys never took care with their appearance, but if this guy was batting for the other team it would definitely fulfill the old adage about all the cute ones being gay. "He's something else, huh?" he added, inclining his head toward Erik.

"_You will ride with me tonight. / __You will ride with me tonight."_

"Oh yeah," Christine gushed, eager to latch on to a conversation topic just to keep Sexy McGorgeous at the counter for a little longer. "He's awesome. That's my Erik friend. Um. My friend, Erik. We're friends."

Sexy McGorgeous did his own double-take at that, giving Christine a once over. There were dried milk stains on her apron and though she thought her hair looked cute when Sorelli put French braids in before work, she immediately wished she'd styled her hair in a way that didn't make her look like a ten-year-old. "_Really?_" he asked incredulously and Christine felt herself blush. The dim blue lights used for open mic nights were probably the kindest to Erik's face, his scars were less noticeable and the shadows around his eyes and under his cheeks just made him look mysterious and soulful rather than undernourished. She would go so far as to say he might appear to have a starving artist kinda sexy to an innocent bystander.

"Really," Christine insisted. "We're in the same theatre program, um, we're students over at St. Mary's, we're in_ Les Mis_ together at Memorial Rep in Providence." All of those things were true, but it sounded so...flat and uninteresting. Her friendship with Erik was one of the most interesting relationships of Christine's life and to boil it down into such stark terms seemed unfair. She rather wanted to elaborate, _He's shown me to tons of horror movies, I won't watch that stuff with anyone but him. And he likes to dress statues up in people-clothes. And we went on a road trip last summer even though I'd never met him before he picked me up at my house. He wrote me a song_.

But she didn't want to gush all over the guy, who appeared to only be half-listening to her. Most of his attention was on Erik. "Hmm. Well, that's...nice," he said in an ambiguous kind of way. The intensity of his gaze, the attention he was giving Erik was far more than casual interest and Christine began to suspect that something was going on.

"_Do your fingers want to feel / __Tunnels made of dampened steel? / And__ why pretend that you're so dull? / __May I say, you're beautiful, / __It makes me want to turn this thing around. / You'll ride with me tonight."_

"Um, do you know Erik?"

"Biblically," he replied and suddenly smiled at her in a way she didn't like. It reminded her of one of the sharks in _Finding Nemo_. Christine had no idea what he meant by that, what the Bible had to do with anything, but she had no time to ask for an explanation. A moment later she felt someone standing very close behind her and Freddy's voice hissed over her head.

"Oh my God. Get out. Get the _fuck _out."

For a brief instant, Christine thought Freddy had lost his damn mind. What was he doing speaking like that to a customer? She turned around, eyes wide, to tell him off and apologize to the cute guy, but the scold died on her tongue when she got a look at Freddy's face. His expression was different from anything she'd ever seen. The look on his face could be described as nothing less than _livid_. He looked ready to sock their unsuspecting customer on the jaw, his blue eyes were narrow behind his glasses, his mouth was set in a scowl and his hands were clenched at his sides.

On the other side of the counter, the guy he spoke so rudely to hardly seemed to care. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm pretty sure there's no law against drinking a chai and listening to music in this state," he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. "I suppose there's no point in asking after your health?"

"You have your drink. You heard music. Whoop-de-fucking-do for you. Now, get. The fuck. Out. What are you even _doing _here?"

The guy gave Freddy a withering look over the frames of his glasses. Suddenly, he was no longer the dreamboat Christine initially thought he was. In fact, his whole face looked awfully sour as he inquired, "Do you want me to get out or would you prefer to make small talk?"

"I would prefer you took a long walk off a short pier into shark-infested waters you _bastard_."

Christine backed away from the counter, mouth open in shock. Who the hell was this guy? Why was Freddy acting so crazy? Freddy braced himself on the counter as he leaned over and spat in the customer's face, "Haven't you caused enough damage? Or are you that much of a fucking sociopath that you don't give up? You know if Ahmed sees you, you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor, right?"

The guy rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, Ahmed, his little guard dog. You all act like he's so breakable - "

"Don't give me that, you didn't give a shit about him after you took off. Plagiarized anything else lately?"

"Freddy," Christine whispered, laying a restraining hand on her friend's arm. Some of their customers took note of the threats and the swearing and were shooting interested looks in their direction during the song break. "People are _staring_."

The guy with the glasses looked _furious_, especially after the plagiarism comment, for a moment, Christine was worried he was going to hit Freddy, but he glanced around at the attention they were attracting and seemed to rethink the violence. "I'll see you around," he said finally, tossing his drink in a nearby trashcan. "Your chai is shit, by the way."

Christine exhaled as he disappeared into the crowd. Freddy, on the other hand, didn't relax one iota, he just turned to her and muttered, "That _asshole_. Did you spit in his drink?"

Taken aback, Christine whirled around and gave Freddy an incredulous look. "Uh, _no_."

His mouth was set in a grimace. "Too bad. I'm going to put the pastries in the freezer." And he stalked off without giving her a chance to ask what the hell all that had been about.

Christine watched him walk away, then turned to squint through the crowd around the stage. Was that guy still there? Who was he and why did Freddy want her to violate the health codes because of him? Shaking her head, she filled a mug with hot water to soak the steaming mechanism on the espresso machine and went into the back to grab some Simple Green to clean her station before closing time. If she moved quickly, she might make it back to the front before Erik finished his set.

"Christine!" Charlotte hissed in her ear. "Is that guy who ordered the chai still here?"

GOD, what WAS it with these people sneaking up on her all the time?

"I don't know," she said, a frown twisting her lips. "I don't even know who he is, Freddy asked him to leave though. And told him he should kill himself."

"Well good," Charlotte said with a defiant toss of her hair. Striding back to food prep, she added over her shoulder, "I'm going to dim the lights and clean my station. I hope you spit in his drink."

Onstage, Erik was oblivious to the commotion behind the beverage bar. After the humiliation he'd suffered the past few weeks, he needed to get a little recognition for his talents, things he'd worked on, not pity or sympathy for his host of medical complications. That was why he signed up for open mic night, that was why he decided to reveal to Christine that the song she was so fond of had been penned by him for her. He wanted some admiration for the things about himself he could control, _not _cuddles and reassurances because she was worried about him or felt bad for him.

The final selection was a Rufus Wainwright tune he was fond of, "Hankering." There was something about the performer's overwrought, overblown, occasionally unbearably pretentious lyricism that deeply appealed to him. This was a rare Wainwright composition which was recorded with only one instrument and the singer's voice and it was almost painfully appropriate for closing out his brief set.

"_I got a hankering something's gonna happen / I may be wrong, but then again, I may be right..."_

His eyes fruitlessly scanned the crowd for her face, but no sign. Erik supposed he shouldn't be too surprised, she was working, she might be in the back cleaning or something. Movement on the periphery of his vision caught his attention and his eyes flickered to its source and his heart jumped. His voice never caught and the song went on without a hitch, but Erik was highly discombobulated because he thought he saw...no. No way. He was in New York. No _way_he was in the crowd. It was his imagination running off on him, his fucked up synapses misfiring, it was just his anxiety fucking with him. That's all it was.

Once he finished the song he fled the stage, making a beeline for the barista station, the applause, cheers and whistles a far-away buzz in his ears. _It was nothing_, he told himself firmly. _You imagined it. That's all. That has to be it_.

As if on cue, Christine popped up from where she'd been crouched below the counter. Her lovely face, more pale than usual in the dim glow of the lights, lit into a smile when she saw him and she reached across the counter to give him a one-armed hug. "You were _so _good, I can't believe you didn't tell me you wrote that song! And for me!" Her expression changed quickly, the smile falling away, replaced by a look of worry. "It _was _about me, right? I'm not just being a crazy egomaniac? Only you said it was an acronym and it was so my name - do you know another Christine? Why have you not told me about your other Christine-friend?"

Erik smiled and felt the tension ease out of his bones. "Because you're my only Christine-friend and yes, the song is all yours. I didn't tell you because I thought you'd find it incredibly creepy."

"No!" she protested loudly. "It's not creepy, it's r - " _WHOA! _(Her conscience was suddenly screaming at her.) _No telling the guy you're not dating that he did something romantic! That breaks all the boyfriend/girlfriend rules!_" -eally cool. And you deserve a coffee for it!" She pushed the cold beverage into his hand, smiling even as she mentally chided herself for getting so swept up in being flattered that she forgot she had a boyfriend.

Erik grinned and took a sip of his drink. Apparently he didn't notice the slip, he would have teased her if he'd noticed, but he just closed his eyes as though savoring the flavor. "Delicious. Perfection. My compliments to the barista."

"Aw shucks." Christine rolled her eyes and added casually, "Oh, some guy was here earlier, I didn't get his name, but he was asking about you."

The blood drained from Erik's face, but he forced his voice to be steady as he inquired, "Really?" _Calm down. It's just the anxiety. It could be a million different people. Okay, maybe not a million, but at least six. Nile, maybe - wait, no, Christine met Nile. Maybe it's Chris. She's never met Chris. _"What did he look like?"

"Glasses," she replied immediately and Erik felt his heart rapping a tattoo against his sternum. "Dark hair - um, he was really, really cute, but Freddy and Charlotte wanted me to spit in his - Erik, are you okay?"

The coffee was dropped onto the counter by his bloodless fingers, but Christine grabbed it before it could make a mess. Erik's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, his breathing was rapid and very shallow; he thought he would either throw up or be sick. _Panic attack_, the functional part of his brain told him soothingly. _You're having a panic attack. You need to sit down. Get some air_.

Without another word to Christine, Erik fled from the counter out into the cool nighttime air. He'd slung his guitar over his shoulder after his set and had the presence of mind not to throw himself on the ground and break it. Instead, he leaned an arm against the solid brick wall that was The Bistro's exterior and took a long, shaking breath. God, he was pathetic, wasn't he? And he was trying to prove he deserved...what, respect? He thought Christine would look at him with admiration in her eyes for his many talents not with pity for his many faults? More fool him.

The door beside his head swung open and Erik assumed it was Christine, come running after him to see if he was okay. Or maybe she'd sent Freddy or Ahmed, someone else who was better equipped to deal with his temper tantrums. The time she ran after him on the beach with a s'more must have been a fluke; wasn't she drinking that night? Maybe she only cared for him when she was drunk or half out of her mind with heatstroke.

Erik took another breath to steady himself, fully prepared to tell whichever friend had been dispatched to deal with him that he was not in the mood. Then a voice spoke beside him and utterly stole his breath away.

"Hey, Erik."

The world seemed to stop spinning, for a moment. When they veered from the topic of discussing his fucked up family life, David liked to focus on Erik's anxiety issues. According to David, Erik suffered from a cognitive distortion termed 'catastrophic thinking' - a tendency to go straight to an exaggerated version of a worst-case scenario for every stressful situation that was not only improbable, but occasionally impossible. These thought patterns were nearly always incorrect. If this had been a hypothetical situation brought up in the comfort of his therapist's office, Erik would have offered half a dozen catastrophic endings to this particular confrontation: he would vomit, fall to his knees and dissolve into tears, vomit and _then cry_, go berserk and begin throwing punches, pass out or (extreme worst case) have a heart attack and die.

None of those things came to pass. One of the perks of catastrophic thinking is that, in reality, when confronted with a stressful situation, the thinker finds themselves reacting in a much more calm, positive way than they anticipated. In retrospect, this can build confidence. In the moment, it can feel as though you're sitting down to take a test you haven't studied for.

For his part, Erik felt much more like he was watching his life play out from somewhere outside himself. He was supposed to be crying/vomiting/hitting/fainting/dying, not straightening up and turning his head toward that face he'd been trying to forget for over a year now. Surely it was someone else, not him who swallowed thickly and replied, without a trace of a tremor or a sob in his voice, "Hey, Alex."


	20. Red and Black

**AN: **Guys! The exposition fairy is here with a whole new chapter! I was very torn about whether or not to break this up into two chapters and then when I didn't I wasn't sure if I wanted to do Christine/Freddy first or Erik/Alex/Ahmed first, but I think this way works best. Thank you so much for all the long, lovely reviews last chapter, I hope this one provides some of the answers you guys have been looking for (it might also lead to a few new questions).

**GiantGreenGiraffeAttack- **Here's your explanation of the backstory! I hope it fulfills all expectations! You're pretty close to the truth, but naturally, being one of Erik's relationships, it needs to be extra complicated. **soprano12- **He's done some pretty despicable things and the worst part is, he honestly doesn't think most of what he did was wrong. I want to give him a mustache to twirl. And Christine's little heart is all a-flutter after that revelation. **Alexis - **That's okay, internships can kill the soul, I've had enough of them to know that. I think this chapter's a bit of clunker, but I can't think of what to cut, I hope you like it! Thanks for all the feedback, I really appreciate it. **ShineLovely-** More than a platonic friend, less than an actual boyfriend, if that makes sense. Definitely not family, though. Christine is a much better choice than Alex...then again, a pet rock would be a better romantic partner than Alex. **Orestes Fallen- **It's like that line from Poltergeist, "He's he-ere!" Poor Erik, he gets one chapter of romantic adorableness, then I have to knock him down again. Oh, I'm sorry, Erik, did you think your life was on the upswing? Think again! **Abby of the Cellars- **Good luck with your thesis! I had a short (read: 60 page) thesis that I did last year, the exam I took was a complete breeze by comparison. Alex is really a Swan-type, now that you mention it. He's one year older than Erik, but they haven't spoken in a year so the relationship wasn't illegal while it was going on since they were both under 18. It was beyond platonic, 'Biblically' is meant to imply that they were physically involved, but that's all I'll say about it for now.

* * *

><p><em>Red - the blood of angry men<br>Black - the dark of ages past.  
>Red - a world about to dawn.<br>Black - the night that ends at last!_

_-Red and Black  
><em>

As the customers inside the shop cleared out, Christine saw her chance to find out was going on. It might not be any of her business, but after nearly a year of friendship with these kids she figured she should know about dudes who had so offended her friends that they wanted her to spit in his drink. Besides, after Erik bolted, leaving his drink behind, she was practically dying of curiosity.

Rather than following Erik, she tucked his drink into the fridge to save for later; if he was having a little hissy fit, he'd probably be thirsty when he decided to behave normally again. When she saw Freddy heading into the shop with a mop, she grabbed the back of his apron to stall him. "Hang on a minute, Christine, I need to see Ahmed before he leaves," he said, clearly implying that he meant to walk away without telling her anything.

Christine stood in front of him with her arms folded. "Wait, just tell me, who is that guy? Why were you so awful to him?"

He actually laughed. "Oh, honey if you knew - "

"Well, I _don't_," she scowled. "I know you guys all have a history and some things are none of my business, but Erik just stormed out and I don't like feeling like I'm being left in the dark."

Freddy swore quietly. "Erik _left_? Dammit, I hoped he'd talk to you for a while. Look, Christine, I _need _to talk to Ahmed, but when I get back, I promise I'll tell you everything."

Christine sidled out of the way and Freddy was back in less than a minute, looking distressed. "Hon, can you wipe down the tables and move the chairs while I mop? Char's going to do all the behind the counter stuff." Looking out the front door, Freddy frowned at Ahmed's back. "He better not get blood on the windows."

"What?" Christine yelped. "Erik's going to fight the guy? He can't! He got hurt last time he tried to fight someone, I saw, he's really not very good at fighting."

"Not Erik. Ahmed," Freddy clarified, then shook his head. "Actually, he's not very good either..."

She couldn't believe her ears. "Are you serious? And you're not going to _do _something about it?"

"I hope Ahmed breaks his nose."

"_Why?_" Christine asked, not sure that there was ever a good reason to break anyone's nose. "Who is that guy?"

Freddy's face clouded and he frowned into the bucket of hot, sudsy water. "His name is Alex," he replied, wringing the mop out. "And he's the spawn of Satan. Ahmed calls him Hellspawn. Meg calls him the Root of all Evil, but Hellspawn is easier to remember."

Right, that clarified absolutely nothing on Christine's end. "How do you guys know him?" she asked, clearing a table of leftover drink containers. "Is he another person you went to high school with?"

Freddy shook his head in the negative. "No, he went to another school on Aquidneck Island. I'd never met him before he started hanging around Erik. They met at some band competition at the end of freshman year, Erik was in orchestra and he had a violin solo during an individual performance showcase. Each school picked a few kids to show off, Erik was ours, Alex was theirs. They were impressed with each other, I guess, but Alex was the one who wanted to be friends. Or whatever."

"So...what, he's Erik's ex-boyfriend?" Christine asked. She was starting to think all this sturm und drang was a tempest in a teapot. Relationships that ended poorly were par for the course in high school, what made this any different from your run of the mill bad break-up?

Making a face, Freddy shrugged. "Kinda. I don't know how much they did together and I don't want to know. Erik...he's just weird about things, I think he has the hots for people's personalities or minds or something equally cerebral and lame before he thinks about other stuff. Whatever, anyway, they spent a LOT of time together and at first it was fine. I actually thought he was good for him, none of us are into music the same way Erik is and Alex just thought he was the coolest thing. It seemed okay."

A sigh escaped her friend and Freddy seemed older and more serious than Christine had ever known him to be. "Ahmed was the first person to realize that Alex was using him. I've been friends with Erik since, like, third grade, I think? Ahmed's been his friend forever and when Erik started to spend more time with Alex, I admit, I thought that he was just sort of...being a worrywart. You might have noticed that we tend to be friends in a group, you're friends with one of us, so you're friends with all of us - "

"I have noticed that, yeah," Christine said, a small smiling playing around her mouth, though the story seemed to be taking a bad turn. Still, it couldn't be _that _terrible. Not so terrible that anyone deserved to be punched.

The smile was returned, but thinly. "Yeah, but Alex didn't get that. Erik's never had...a ton of friends, but he'd ditch us in a second if Alex called. I think it was probably easy to ignore that since Alex was really wishy-washy. He had his own school and friends and stuff, but sometimes he'd take up Erik's attention for days and weeks. I didn't really blame him at the time, I mean, he's gorgeous, he always had been and back then we figured they were dating and I kind of thought, good for Erik since he's...well, I didn't think he'd get anyone that hot ever."

Freddy dipped the mop back into the rapidly blackening water and delivered the next bit of his monologue to the floor. "We should have listened to Ahmed from the start. He knew Alex was bad for him, but I thought he was being overprotective. We had a fight over it, actually. I said Ahmed was babying him and stuff, boy was he pissed. But it turns out he was right the whole time."

"What happened?" Christine asked softly. "You said he used him?"

"That came last. Alex is a special kind of crazy where he's obviously insane, but doesn't have anything diagnosable. He really loves the 'tortured genius' thing, he thinks you need to be borderline insane to produce really great art and so he'd tell Erik to skip meds, say they were just holding him back - really, unsafe, crazy shit."

"Oh my God," Christine breathed, eyes wide. She couldn't even fathom telling someone not to take medicine that was supposed to make them better, she certainly couldn't understand feeling happy when someone was as out of control as Erik could get. She did not often turn her mind to that night in the basement, but when she did, she remembered the fear, both for herself and Raoul, but also for Erik. He was such a great guy when he was giving her singing lessons or being dorky and playing on a swing set with her, she could not imagine trying to _push _him to the edge.

"Yeah," Freddy nodded, swallowing heavily. "But, you've seen Erik having a freakout, after a while he's kind of useless, he can't create anything, he can barely function. He's either running around or hurting himself or not getting out of bed. So, he'd go nuts, have an episode and then Alex would leave. Erik would be a mess and Alex would just be gone and once Erik was back to normal, he'd be fine for a while, that fucking douchebag would call again and it would all repeat. it went on like that for two years." Glancing over his shoulder, he looked back at Christine and swore her to secrecy. "Please don't tell Erik I told you this. He wouldn't want you to know."

"Okay," she agreed. "I won't tell him."

Her friend gave up all pretense of cleaning and leaned against the mop handle. "Alex wanted to go to the University of Rochester - I guess he's still there. He and Erik had been working on a lot of music together. Alex said they collaborated, but it was mostly Erik's work, it was before he got his recording studio in the basement, so they had to record everything at Alex's house. He got in, early acceptance, because of Erik's work. He took credit for it, put his name on everything and when he sent demos of songs to the school, Erik was the one who played the instruments and provided the vocal tracks."

Christine thought she was going to be sick. "Are you kidding? That's horrible! He didn't get away with it, that's plagiarism, it's completely dishonest! Did you call the school?"

"Oh, we threatened to," Freddy said. "Once we found out - Alex didn't _want _anyone to, duh, he didn't talk to Erik for months, but he had an online portfolio through the school and the internet is forever, it wasn't hard to track him down. Ahmed let him have it over the phone, he said he'd call the school, get him expelled and he...this is seriously the worst part. He said, and I fucking quote, 'Just try. It's his word against mine and I don't think the administration would take the word of someone with multiple stays in a mental hospital too seriously.'"

Christine was stunned. "How could he...how could he do that? What did Erik do?"

"He could do that because he's an evil sociopath," he replied flatly. "Or, I don't know, maybe he genuinely thinks that the music is his because he was the 'inspiration' for it or he encouraged Erik or maybe he's just an egomaniac who honestly thinks it was a collaboration. Erik was...awful. Worse than I'd ever seen him. He tried to...well, he hurt himself pretty badly. And went to the hospital. And we were all terrified that he wasn't going to come back." Tears were actually brimming in Freddy's eyes and he hastily brushed them away. "Um. But he was okay. I mean, he got better. And he was back at school and finished out Spring semester and we did _Man of La Mancha _and he was amazing and...we all kind of thought the worst was over. But this guy's back now and I don't trust him. I don't think he's here to apologize and if he was, I don't think he deserves to be heard out. That's why I was 'awful' to him, that's why Ahmed needs to get Erik out of here before he sees Alex because I don't want to know what he'll do when he sees him again."

Christine was quiet for a long, long time. The two of them left half the floor unmopped and cleaned up, putting the cash away without another word spoken between them. Finally, Christine looked up at Freddy and said, quietly, but with tremendous resolve. "I should have spit in his drink."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, behind the coffee shop, a storm was brewing. The silence between the young men out seemed to stretch into eternity, but really, the two of them only stood staring at one another for a few seconds. Alex was perfect, as ever, though the carefully cultivated facial hair was new, as were the clothes. Gray v-neck t-shirt and a gray pinstripe vest with dark wash jeans, the light colors bringing out flecks of gold in his dark eyes.<p>

"You stopped straightening your hair," Alex observed, referring to a time a year and a half ago when Erik was really working the emo look for all it was worth. "It looks nice."

"Thanks," he replied knowing he shouldn't feel grateful for the remark. How could he when he knew it was probably bullshit? As far as he knew, Alex had not spoken one word of truth to him since they met three years ago and yet...there was the unmistakable feeling of pleasure that got his heartrate up. Alex so rarely gave compliments, it was an unusual treat to receive one, even a false one.

Another silence fell between them as Erik and Alex just stared at one another, the former feeling more and more self-conscious by the second. What could he possibly have to look at besides the haircut? His new scars? Was he trying to assess whether or not Erik's face was as spotty as he remembered? Did he realize the nose was new too? A wave of shame washed over Erik as soon as that last thought entered his mind. Alex saw him without the prosthesis exactly one time and after that reaction, Erik vowed it would never happen again. Turns out, it hardly mattered; he left anyway.

Once again, Alex broke the silence. Maybe he was just as uncomfortable with this meeting as Erik was - but if so, why seek him out in the first place? "Are you, ah, working on anything new?"

"_Les Miserables and Cyborgs_."

Alex actually had the gall to smile. "Really? You know Cameron Macintosh will take you for every penny you're worth once that hits the internet."

"Then there's probably less of a chance that you'll want in on the project," Erik replied coldly. It was with some satisfaction that he noted Alex turn away, a hurt expression crossing his flawless face. Maybe not quite guilt, but at least it was something. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk to you, see how you're doing. It's been a while and you didn't answer my calls after I went to school..." His voice was filled with such guileless sincerity that Erik almost _ached _to believe it was true. In the weeks following the debacle that was last November, he'd literally dreamed of this moment. Alex would realize how completely awful he'd been, how truly terrible his actions were and he'd give some sign that he actually cared whether or not Erik was falling apart. Those phone calls he mentioned so casually, though? They started up in January. After he heard about the hospitalization; funny, Erik distantly noted, how he seemed to spend most of his school holidays in the psych ward.

"I'm fine, as you can see," Erik swallowed hard, fingering his guitar strap nervously as though it was a shield that would keep the sociopaths away. _He doesn't care about you,_ a voice in his head cautioned him. Ah, yes, Ahmed-voice, the voice of his common sense. _Everything he's ever done has been for him. He doesn't care about anyone else. Get out of here, man. Get out. _"I guess I'll see you - "

Alex placed a warm hand on his arm, stopping Erik in his tracks before he could get back inside the shop. They were closing, the place had to be clearing out and it was just his luck he'd gone out the back door rather than the front where his friends would be waiting. "Come on, what's the rush? We should talk. You aren't still mad, are you? It looks like everything worked out for the best."

Erik shook his arm off, temper flaring as he took a step away from the other young man. Now his hands were gripping the guitar strap as though he was going to tear it off and bludgeon Alex to death with it. "The best. _The best? _Are you _shitting _me?"

Something glimmered deep in those dark eyes and Erik felt an emotion rising in him that fluttered somewhere between anticipation and dread. Erik's temper and mood swings used to excite him. Alex always said he admired his 'artistic temperament' and all the things that drove his other friends away: the mania and paranoia, the rage, the giddy highs and soul-sucking lows seemed to fascinate him. At the time, he thought that excitement was merely acceptance, but there were always signs that Alex's appreciation of Erik's neurological differences were more sinister than he let on.

For instance, Alex had a wall in his room filled with pictures of artists he thought the most highly of. He called it his wall of inspiration. Erik remembered the faces well: Vincent Van Gogh, Beethoven, Robert Schumann, Hemingway, Johnny Ace, Poe, Cobain and Hendrix, among others. At first he thought it just another high school kid's eclectic mix of influences. It was only later that he realized all of the people Alex most admired were alcoholics and drug addicts who were suicidal or died insane.

Ahmed noticed right away. As the voice of Erik's common sense and his best friend since before they eliminated nap time from the school curriculum, Ahmed knew Erik at his best and his worst. Unlike the face Alex put on, Ahmed did not accept Erik's worst personality traits, he tolerated them. Did he like the fact that Erik could fly off the handle with little to no warning, that he was so easily distracted by projects he forgot to eat, that some days it was a challenge to get him out of bed? No, not at all. He dealt with issues when it came up, but if some genie turned up and told him that he could snap his fingers and magic Erik into good mental health, he'd immediately do it. Not for his own sake (though he couldn't deny that he was happier when Erik was stable), but for Erik's. As difficult as it was to be friends with Erik on a bad day, it was infinitely worse to _be _Erik on a bad day.

These last few months were some of the best Ahmed had witnessed in ages and he was not about to let anyone fuck that up. So when Freddy nabbed him after Erik's set to tell him that Hellspawn was back in town, Ahmed searched for the little weasel like a bloodhound for a rabbit. When he could not find either of them, he assumed the worst and ran outside, praying that Erik hadn't taken total leave of his senses and gone off with the guy. Because that was _his_j ob.

When he spotted the two of them casually engaged in conversation, he saw red. Usually Ahmed was pretty even-keeled, it was a nice contrast to Erik, who had a tendency to fly off the handle at the smallest provocation. Even when he was upset, his temper didn't flare, it smoldered. Where Erik ranted and raved, Ahmed glared and spoke quietly. Usually people knew enough to back off, but where the Hellspawn was concerned, he could not be trusted to control himself.

This was why, in the blink of an eye Ahmed stalked over to where the two of them were standing, grabbed Hellspawn by his shirt and slammed him into the wall of the building. "Jesus!" the douchebag had the gall to shout, shoving Ahmed in an attempt to get the taller boy off him.

"Just leave him alone, would you!" Ahmed shouted, hands balling into fists, not caring at all about drawing a crowd. Erik, for his part, was so taken aback by Ahmed's actions that he didn't even have the presence of mind to form a sarcastic remark, he just stared at his friend in open-mouthed shock.

"Touch me again and I'll bring up assault charges," Alex warned Ahmed, putting his hands up defensively. "Don't think I won't. God, we were only talking."

Ahmed glared at him, veins in his neck actually bulging with the force of keeping down the urge to punch him in the face. The hatred he felt was palpable, the disgust was plain on his face. "Fuck you," he said, unable to even summon a full sentence. "Get the fuck out of here or you won't be able to work your hands to call the police, you _asshole._"

To threaten musicians with broken hands and fingers was one of the most effective ways of letting them know you weren't kidding. With a look between Ahmed and Erik, Alex glowered at the former and rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said finally. "Erik, if you want to have a grown-up conversation without your bodyguard, you still have my number."

Erik nodded silently, still looking askance at Ahmed, who did not move until Alex was out of sight. "Uh, thanks for...defending my honor, but honestly - " Erik began, but Ahmed silenced him with a look.

"Don't," he said, his expression one of stony disapproval. "Don't even try to tell me that you don't need my help or you were doing fine or any of that crap. He is _pure evil_. And you don't think clearly when you're around him."

Erik took offense to that. "I'm not a child!" he exploded. "I don't need you policing everyone I talk to - "

"I don't do that!" Ahmed shouted back. "Or I wouldn't _need_ to if you could take care of yourself which we both know you fucking _can't_, so just let me do this!"

Already overwhelmed by the emotionally taxing events of the evening, Erik shoved his friend hard, into a plastic trash can which toppled over and took Ahmed crashing to the sidewalk with it. "Fuck you!" he screamed, towering over his friend, eyes wide, teeth gnashing, hands tangling in his hair. "Shut the fuck up, just _shut up! _You don't know anything about it - "

"Did you know he was coming?" Ahmed demanded from the ground. "Because if you did and you agreed to see him, you are the biggest idiot - "

"So what if I did?" Erik asked, literally shaking with rage. "So _what? _How is that any of your fucking business?"

"Because it's my job to keep your ass sane and that motherfucker has done more damage - "

"Did you stop to think that you can't help me?" Erik asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "Did you ever stop to think that despite your best efforts, I'm just fucked up and I can't be fixed? Did you ever stop and think that you're _wasting your time?_"

"Yeah, every fucking day!" Ahmed shot back, utterly exasperated. A moment later, seeing the look on Erik's face, he regretted every word that had just passed between them.

That hurt. More than seeing Alex again, after all this time, more than reliving the moment when he realized that the first person who he thought cared about him unconditionally was nothing more than a liar. Erik took Ahmed for granted sometimes. Even when everything else was gone, he had faith in the back of his mind that Ahmed was in it for the long haul. To hear his friend admit that he wondered if Erik was worth it took all the anger out of him. Eyes burning, Erik turned his back and started walking off toward the street.

"Where are you going?" Ahmed called after him, fighting to get up and away from the trashcan. Erik ignored him. Ahmed started running just as Erik picked up his pace, making a beeline out of the parking lot and into the road. Not giving a shit about the fact that his actions might wind up costing him a few hundred dollars for a replacement guitar, Ahmed lunged forward and grabbed hold of Erik, losing his balance at the last second and pulling both of them to the ground. Erik struck out blindly.

"Let go of me!" he yelled, twisting to get away. "If you don't think I'm worth your time, why do you bother?"

"I didn't say that," Ahmed replied evenly, his voice losing its former angry edge. "I _didn't _say that, you never listen, do you? You piss me off and freak me out and I worry about you. I worry about you _all the time _and you are worth it because if you weren't, I wouldn't stop you from running into traffic or chase you all over the theatre or try to keep you the hell away from fucking sociopaths who ruin your life!"

"He didn't ruin my li - "

"He did! That piece of shit fucking did," Ahmed said, his eyes flashing. "He didn't flush your meds, he didn't buy the razor blades, but he _drove_ you to that! It's his fucking fault, it's all his fault and I don't care if you blame yourself, I sure as shit don't and I will _never _forgive him for what he did to you!"

Erik was still at that moment, his mind rebelling instantly at what Ahmed said. His friend was wrong. Erik was the one who was fucked up, Erik was the one who landed himself in the hospital, he was the one who was stupid enough to believe that someone might care about him for him, not just because of what he could do. If Erik hadn't believed in the impossibility of Alex's devotion, then none of that would have happened. It was all his own fault.

The two of them were still breathing hard and Ahmed was reluctant to let Erik up until he was sure his friend wasn't going to ditch him for the road again. "Is your guitar okay?" he asked, trying to find some kind of neutral topic to latch onto.

Erik sat up a bit and gave the guitar a once-over. "It's in one piece," he observed. There was a new scuff mark from where it scraped on the sidewalk when they fell, but it was still playable.

"Good," Ahmed said, then, sensing that the moment was right, stood up and extended a hand to pull Erik to his feet.

Rising from the ground, Erik straightened his clothes and gave Ahmed a long, lingering look. "What?" his friend asked.

"You didn't say," Erik began, then faltered. "You didn't say – since you spend so much time worrying I'm going to take a flying leap off the edge of sanity and never come back – why you stick around anyway."

Ahmed just closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing. "God, Erik. It's like you don't realize how much I love you."

Neither could be sure who moved first, but almost instantly after speaking, Ahmed found himself locked in a fierce embrace with Erik, which neither of them moved to break for a long, long time.


	21. Do You Hear the People Sing?

**AN: **Sorry that this is a day late, it's been a weird week for me. Short offering this time, I was kind of stumped with this one, but I think we all need a bit of a cool-down after the last chapter, yes? There is a monster of a musical to mount, after all! Thank you guys for such positive feedback!

**MissMally - **Everybody needs a bestie like Ahmed, don't you think? **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack -** Aww, it gives me great satisfaction to know that I'm moving my readers to tears. Then again, this fic IS supposed to be funny. I suppose this half has officially moved into dramedy territory. 'Sorta kinda' is the best way to describe Alex/Erik, Erik certainly thought they were in a relationship, but Alex...not so much. **Abby of the Cellars - **You know, I never really thought of it that way, but I can so see where you're coming from! Alex is, as you pointed out, way more sadistic than Leroux!Christine, he's really more of a Swan from _Phantom of the Paradise_, but Erik's side of the relationship is very Leroux-esque. He would do anything for him, was totally blind to the fact that the relationship was INCREDIBLY unhealthy and cared a thousand times more about Alex than Alex did about him. No tomatoes here, I really like that spot of analysis!

**ShineLovely -**Alex is very ugly on the inside, selfish and almost entirely without empathy, but super hot on the outside. Erik wanted to be wanted so badly, he just didn't see it. Your comment about Erik and Freddy made me giggle, no way in HELL would those two hook up, they like to argue too much. **StarCatcher1858 -** They have the best bromance! If only they were attracted to each other, it would make their lives SO much easier. **Alexis - **You can ask all the questions you'd like! To answer directly: Yes, Ahmed meant platonic love. He's about a 1 on the Kinsey Scale and since he and Erik have been friends so long there's practically zero attraction on either side. Alex is one of those good-looking people who has grown up so privileged that he really sees no harm in taking what he wants, regardless of who he hurts. He's kind of like how Erik thought Raoul at first, before he realized Raoul is basically the nicest person on earth. **Orestes Fallen - **Thanks so much for the kind words. Erik and Ahmed are basically platonic soulmates (at least in this story). I was originally going to have Christine come jumping to Erik's defense, but she doesn't know the backstory and it wouldn't have meant as much as having Erik's best friend, who knows him better than anyone, come out swinging for him.

* * *

><p><em>Do you hear the people sing?<br>Singing a song of angry men?  
>It is the music of a people<br>Who shall not be slaves again.  
>- Do You Hear the People Sing?<em>

After their emotional scene in the parking lot, Erik and Ahmed did what came naturally to them in the aftermath of stressful situations: they spent the remainder of the evening zoned out on weed watching horror movies. Though Erik couldn't bring himself to giggle over the awful situation at the coffee shop at least he could forget about it for long stretches of time, enough to get a decent night's sleep before his costume call the next day.

Weirdly, Christine, the world's worst texter, contacted him by phone no less than five times during the movie marathon.

**hey u 4got ur coffee. iou 1 nxt time u cum in!**

**minigolf soon y/y?**

**freddy said 50s movie theme! dust off ur cape dracula!**

**ps - y didnt u tell me u wrote that song? 2 cool!**

**pps - my dad wants 2 know if u could do sum audio stuff 4 him + his musician friends. can he email u?**

Erik wasn't quite sure what prompted this outpouring of communication, but he responded more or less promptly. Yes, she should give him free coffee. Yep, minigolf sounded cool. Sure, her dad could email him. Then he promptly passed out on the couch and neither received nor sent any texts until the next morning.

Amid all the drama that was their personal lives, it might be easy for the students to forget that they had a show to mount in a few short weeks. Easy, but for the seemingly endless rehearsal schedule, made longer by costume fittings and consultations about hair and make-up. At least Tim had someone in to fix the air conditioning - just as the unusual spring heat wave began to subside. Sometimes he honestly wondered whether or not God was laughing at him.

Today the barricade boys were scheduled to be poked with pins as Marilyn, the show's wardrobe mistress, made sure they looked appropriately rakish while they were on stage. It was an unspoken decision on both boys' parts to say nothing about what happened the night before. Erik was still shaken and embarrassed by the entire incident and Ahmed too angry to speak rationally about it, so when they woke up and made their way to the theatre, the two of them made a special effort to talk about anything BUT last night's debacle. Freddy caught on quickly, but in his usual style, failed to act as his friends might have wished him to. As a lapsed Catholic, he knew everything there was to know about the benefits of repression.

"But what are you going to _do_?" he asked, his voice getting a little whiny. Erik slumped down in the passenger seat and stared sullenly out the window.

Ahmed was driving the three of them to Memorial and did not like having emotionally-fraught conversations when he was behind the wheel. "Can we not talk about this now?"

Frowning deeply, Freddy shook his head. "Nope. Because now that we know he's here, he'll just pop up randomly. Probably all the time. Because he's _evil_."

"I don't know why he's not at school," Erik mumbled. "Shouldn't he have better things to do than hang out in Rhode Island? Going to class, maybe."

"Or stealing candy from babies and drinking the blood of the elderly," Freddy suggested as alternatives. "I don't care why he's in town, he's _in_town and doesn't have respect for normal human concepts like 'boundaries.' So what are we going to do?"

Ahmed actually devoted a good chunk of time last night trying to come up with a plan. He had the number identified on Erik's phone, so if he called, Erik would know and could avoid answering. Maybe he was just in town visiting his parents, in that case, he would have to leave eventually and their problems would be over. If, for whatever reason, that didn't happen, Ahmed could go ahead with the breaking his fingers back-up plan.

"Ignore him," he said with a note of finality. "For now. He's a narcissist, they thrive on attention."

"He's a _stalker_," Freddy countered. "How creepy was it that he showed up last night?"

"It might not be creepy," Erik said. "I literally signed up, like, an hour before, how could he have even known where I'd be? It was a shitty coincidence - "

"You're too damn nice to him," the red-haired boy argued. "I think - "

"Wow, really?" Ahmed asked, whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes at Freddy. "Erik's too nice to him? I'd like to take you back a year, you might remember a conversation that went something like this - 'I think that Alex kid is an asshole.'" Then, affecting a falsetto, "Oh, no, Ahmed, you're just _jealous_, you just don't want anyone else being Erik's BFF - '"

"That was _before _we knew he was crazy, you were being paranoid before he did anything weird."

"No_, _I was paying attention, you were too wrapped up in your own personal drama to give a shit about anyone but yourself."

"_Excuse me?_" Freddy squawked, sounding uncomfortably similar to Ahmed's unflattering parody. "I'm sorry, I have my own life, I don't spend all my time meddling in other people's business like it's my freaking _job_."

"Would you both kindly _shut the fuck up_?" Erik growled. "As much as I love it when people talk in front of me like I'm not here, it gets old. Fast."

Ahmed seemed content to say no more about it, but Freddy couldn't let it go. "'Scuse me for taking an active interest in your sanity. Because, you know, sometimes you don't make the best decisions. Especially when it comes to the devil's child."

"You guys need to give it up with the nicknames," Erik said, staring glumly out the window. "It's getting excessive."

"I think we need to have an event," Freddy declared, in an effort to change tactics. "If we're going to do nothing, we need to have some kind of happening to wipe the unfortunate events of last night from our minds."

"You were barely involved," Ahmed rolled his eyes.

"That might be true, but I'm very sensitive, I'm picking up on all your bad vibes. So, I think we should - "

"Yeah, yeah, '50s mini-golf, Christine told me," Erik said, waving a hand dismissively. "Fine, fine, whatever."

His bespeckled friend's face fell. "Aww, I wanted to tell you, when did you talk to Christine?"

"She texted me a few times last night, I think she was wondering why I took off and wanted to make sure I wasn't dead. Very sweet of her."

"She's a good egg," Fredy confirmed. Then they pulled into a parking spot at Memorial and the rest of the morning was taken up with costume fittings. The timing was more than convenient; Freddy sensed Erik was irked enough with him that explaining Christine's motivation for talking to him may or may not have had something to do with Freddy pouring out the entire sad saga to her as he mopped the floor. Erik wasn't quite so dopey and lethargic that he wouldn't punch him in the face.

Even though Chester wasn't technically the costume designer, he still wanted final approval before anyone went onstage in something that looked terrible. Naturally, that wasn't how he put it to Marilyn, he said he wanted to admire her handiwork. He was crafty like that. This was why he was stationed outside the dressing room stalls tapping his foot impatiently. "Alright buttercup, let's see it," he said after having dismissed the majority of the young men in the cast.

The top of Erik's head popped up over the top of the dressing stall. "The pants look ridiculous," he warned him.

Chester sighed in a long-suffering manner. "They aren't pants, they're trousers. And it's our job to _fix_that, so get on out here and don't be bashf - oh. Yeah, that's a little ridiculous, you're right."

"Told you," Erik mumbled, folding his arms across his chest. The pants _fit_, but just because they fit, it did not automatically follow that they looked good. High-waisted pants - sorry, trousers - were status quo essentially until the 1960s. When you had incredibly long legs, the style was less than flattering.

"You're just so _tall_," Marilyn gripped. "You have, what, a 36 inch inseam? That's not easy to work with. Anyway, when you put your little sash on it'll be fine and I have you in a coat before that scene, so don't worry so much."

Chester agreed that a sash and coat would be more than enough to make Erik look less freakishly disproportionate and, his job meddling done, he left to head off on his lunch break.

Sorelli and Charlotte happened to be walking by and poked their heads in at that moment. "Aww, who's a cute little revolutionary?" Charlotte cooed. She was in a fantastic mood, having been fitted for her prostitute outfit which made her breasts look exceptional.

Sorelli, on the other hand, was looking Erik over with a critical eye. After a moment's contemplation she sighed and shook her head. "Well, he's no Ramin Karimloo, but I guess he'll do."

Charlotte shrugged, "Meh, Ramin doesn't really do it for me."

Whipping his head around, Erik looked at Charlotte incredulously. "Are you serious? He does it for _me._"

"I don't like that little yip thing he does when he's at the top of his range."

"That's hardly the world's most irritating vocal tic," he pointed out.

"And that _ass_," Sorelli added dreamily. "He's easily - _easily_- the sexiest Valjean ever. I mean, screw Hugh Jackman, I want me some Ramin on that screen."

"Eh, that's where we differ," Erik said, heading back into the stall to take his pants off. While he managed to make it through rehearsal shirtless without actually dying of embarrassment, he had no desire for the girls to make fun of his chicken legs from now until the end of eternity. "I think he's too young for the role, what is he, thirty? Thirty-one? He's too young to play youngish!Valjean in the first scene. Also his beard scares me."

"What are you talking about?" Sorelli demanded, looking actively insulted by this entire conversation. "I don't care how young he is, Ramin is _so _hot. I, like, drop an egg looking at him."

Charlotte just stared for a minute. "Ramin Karimloo makes you ovulate?"

"Hells to the yes."

"Well, damn."

"Okay, thanks for those insightful comments girls," Marilyn interjected in a no-nonsense tone. "But we're working here, if you're done for the day, you can head out. Or help me sew buttons."

Both girls politely bowed out and scurried out of the theatre to grab lunch. As Erik was putting his own clothes back on, Marilyn called through the curtain, "Quick question about facial hair - "

"No," Erik said flatly before she even finished her sentence.

"No?" Marilyn asked.

"No," he repeated, firmly. "I can't grow out my sideburns."

"Not even a little bit?" she asked him, giving the sides of his head a critical look.

Shaking his head Erik explained that growing facial hair was not one of his many talents and that if she expected him to have manly 19th century sideburns they would have to be glued on. "Or Ahmed could let me borrow some of his," he remarked as his friend came strolling into the costume shop.

"Borrow my what?" he asked.

"Facial hair."

"Gah, yeah, I'm basically a beast," Ahmed lamented. Giving Erik the once-over, he asked, "How much do you need? I can do a full beard in about a week, give or take."

"Do you charge extra for a rush order?"

"Nah, actually, it's a well-known fact that if you sing 'Who Am I?' enough times, a Jean Valjean beard will instantly appear."

"We're talking sideburns."

"Oh," Ahmed frowned and tried to look thoughtful. "Well, that's different. I could sing some late-career Elvis, but that has the nasty side-effect of causing insatiable peanut butter cravings."

"We don't want to go down that road," Erik replied darkly. "Sorry, Marilyn, looks like I'm going to have puny sideburns."

The costume designer rolled her eyes, "Fine. Dash my dreams. But don't come crying to me when your revolution fails."


	22. In My Life

**AN: **Early update because I won't be around tomorrow! This is another chapter that I split in two, otherwise it was going to be insanely long. Just some more fun (with some possibly revelations) to keep chugging along until they have to *gasp* PERFORM! Also, just in case anyone is dreading the inevitable end of this story as I run out of songs, the fabulous **BleedingHeartConservative** and I have a little spin-off in the works, just fyi. It's going to be wacky. SO wacky.

**GiantGreenGiraffeAttack - **I am glad to quench your thirst for comedy! **Abby of the Cellars - **I LOVE the peanut gallery here, I also love when people steal Erik's thunder. Yeah, our little buttercup had his heart stomped on and that's never easy to recover from. Christine's coming around. Slowly, SLOWLY coming around. **ShineLovely -** I'm glad you like the banter since we've got boatloads of that coming up! There will be further confrontations, but I can't promise a real fight - which might be for the best, as we established back in New Hampshire, Erik sucks at fistfights. I do have wee life outside fanfic ;-) I'm in a play myself this weekend, hence the early update. Hope you enjoy!

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><p><em>In my life<br>There are so many questions and answers  
>That somehow seem wrong<em>.  
>-<em>In My Life<em>

Sometimes - just sometimes, mind - Christine's life became incredibly weird. Currently she was smearing black eyeliner on her lower lid and frowning at her reflection in the mirror. "Who am I supposed to be again?" Her hair was down and had been brushed until her curls gave way to frizzy waves. Sorelli cobbled together an ensemble featuring a weird dress with a Peter Pan collar outfit from Meg's wardrobe and told Christine to apply tons of pancake makeup with blacked out eyes and fake blood on the mouth.

"You're the little blonde zombie girl from _Night of the Living Dead_," Sorelli replied. She was wearing a slinky black dress, which would have called to mind Morticia Addams, save belted around her waist and the copious amounts of cleavage. "I took some liberties with the costume."

"And the timeline," Meg pointed out. "Wasn't _Night of the Living Dead _done in '68? This is 50s movies."

Sorelli pursed her lips. "Can we not quibble, please?"

"I'm just saying the boys are going to start bitching when they come pick us up."

Rolling her eyes to heaven as she straightened her long brown hair, Sorelli replied, "It's not our fault there aren't as many good female monsters to choose from, sometimes we have to go outside the box - and you're just wearing a mask, you're being lazy."

"I am not!" Meg exclaimed, aghast.

"Who are you supposed to be anyway?" Christine asked, looking up from her make-up application. Aside from curling her hair and donning a shirt dress, Meg really seemed to be making zero effort toward crafting a costume. "Because I have no idea what's going on."

"I," Meg announced grandly, strapping a plain white mask over her face, "am Christine from the French classic _Les Yeux sans Visage_, also known as _Eyes without a Face_, also also known as _The Horror Chamber of Dr. Faustus_. She was hideously disfigured in a car crash and her dad is a mad scientist who transplants the face of girls he kidnaps onto her own. And she creepily prank calls her boyfriend who thinks she's dead because better dead than ugly, right?"

Christine laughed uneasily and Sorelli explained her costume. "I'm Vampira from _Plan 9 from Outer Space_. I'm either an alien or a zombie or a zombie-alien. I'm surprised you didn't remember, Christine, considering the fact that Erik tried to seduce you with bad horror movies."

Oh dear God, did _all_of their friends know about the Ed Wood marathon? Beneath the make-up, her zombified friend's cheeks turned pink. "He wasn't seducing me. We were just up in his room watching movies."

"On his _bed_," Vampira waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Nothing happened," Christine insisted. "We just sat on his bed and watched movies and drank iced tea. It was totally unsexy." Now, writing her a song? Completely adorable, but again, probably totally platonic. Especially since she had a weird encounter with his evil ex-boyfriend. Evil he may have been, he was still an ex-_boy_friend and apart from the sociopathic tendencies Freddy outlined, he was intelligent and talented and super-hot. Christine's main talents included singing and making s'mores. She was a solid B/B+ student in high school, never took any AP classes and could plunk out a tune or two on the piano, but was no musician. Even if Erik liked her as a friend, that didn't mean she'd interest him as a romantic partner.

Also, she was dating Raoul. Lest anyone forget that.

"I too have sat on Erik's bed watching movies," Meg interjected. "It is completely unsexy. Also, there's never any food in his house, did he feed you while you were there?"

Christine shook her head. "Nope, we went to Gregg's and ate nachos with Freddy."

"See?" Meg shook her head sadly. "If a guy's trying to seduce me, he at least needs to treat me to a nice dinner."

"Nachos can be nice," Sorelli said defensively. "Do you guys think I need a coat?"

The weather was dipping back down into the 40s and 50s, so all three girls decided to don coats and mittens for their journey to Monster Mini-Golf. Turned out they needn't have bothered since Ahmed cranked the heat in his van up to tropical proportions. "Hey ladies!" Freddy yelped cheerfully. "Welcome to the sauna!"

"Who are you supposed to be?" Christine asked, pulling off her jacket as she climbed into the car. Freddy's hair was wildly brushed away from his face and he was wearing what appeared to be a hospital gown tied over a pair of nice pants and a high-collared shirt.

"He broke his own rule," Armand replied, sliding over so Christine could take a seat. "He's Dr. Praetorius from _Bride of Frankenstein_."

"I like to think of it as _expanding _rather than _breaking_," Freddy explained.

Erik turned around and fixed Feddy with a withering look. "It's not the year, it's the definition. I was told B-movies and _Bride_is not B, it's one of the greatest films of all time."

"Of all time?"

"_Of all time_," Erik intoned, then paused. "Is Kanye still a thing?"

"If we keep the memory alive, it's still a thing," Freddy decided. "So, let's see, we've got Vampira, a zombie and..."

Meg put the mask on silently in response to Freddy's open-ended question.

"Ooh, _Christine_," Erik murmured approvingly. "Very nice, I like how you went outside the box with that one - though again, _not a B movie_."

Meg raised the mask so she could stick her tongue out at Erik. "There are no female movie monsters that work with your fake rules. Also, don't call me Christine, otherwise tonight is going to get really confusing, really fast."

"You can be Christine," Freddy suggested, "and Christine can be...oh, shit, what was the girl's name? Trivia time!"

"Karen," Ahmed and Erik answer simultaneously. They were just uncannily geeky sometimes.

"Who are you guys?" Christine asked. "Uh, Erik, I know you're a chiropractor."

"I am a chiropractor," Erik agreed, pulling the edge of his cape over his. "A zombie-alien-vampire chiropractor." His hair was slicked back and he'd donned some eyeliner, but that was all the special effort Erik made with his costume. It was slightly cruel to think it, but with his habitually black clothing and pallor, he didn't need to do much to impersonate a zombie-alien-vampire chiropractor.

"I'm Phillipe Delambre from _Return of the Fly_," Ahmed said from the front seat. From behind, only the white of his lab coat was visible, but when he held up his left hand, Christine saw that he was wearing a black oven mitt like a glove.

"Ahmed didn't _try_," Freddy whined.

"Hang on, that's not the whole costume," Erik said, reaching under his seat. He withdrew a headband with two bug antenae on springs. "See? Fly."

"That looks nothing like the makeup in _The Fly_."

"It's interperative," Armand said, in an effort to keep the peace. "I'm Vincent Price in _House on Haunted Hill_." His costume consisted of a suit, ascot and tiny mustache that he drew on his upper lip.

"Please tell me you have a plastic skeleton on a string," Meg begged him. "_Please _tell me, it would make my night."

"I do not," Armand replied, shaking his head. "It wouldn't fit in the car since we're breaking all kinds of laws about maximum capacity."

"It's not lawbreaking if no one arrests you," Erik reasoned. "Besides, I'm sure Charlotte and Jamie will be very comfortable on the floor."

"Are we getting Charlotte, Jamie _and _Raoul?" Christine asked, glancing around the interior of the van.

"There's room," Ahmed insisted. And so there seemed to be. Jamie and Charlotte squeezed in (Jamie wound up sitting on Charlotte's lap) and there was still plenty of room for Raoul to stretch out on the floor. Jamie's hair currently an ashy blonde and hung limply around her face. She was wearing the blue tank-top and bell bottoms of the main victim from _The Texas Chain Saw Massacre_, so she was easy enough to guess. Charlotte was slightly more obscure in a rather demure skirt and sweater.

"And you are...?" Meg asked.

Charlotte removed a water gun from the waist of her skirt. "One of the hoodlums from _The Violent Years_."

"Lesser known Ed Wood," Freddy replied with a low whistle. "I'm officially impressed."

"Don't tell me," the red-head said, nodding toward Erik. "He told me about it after I texted him and asked about costume ideas that wouldn't involve scrubbing tons of eyeliner out of my pillow tomorrow."

They were in front of Raoul's building now and Christine called to let him know they were there. "Awesome!" he answered, sounding really exciting. "I'm going to lose so bad at golf, but my costume is cool."

"Oh, now he's created expectation," Jamie said, shaking her head sadly. "We're probably going to be disappoin - AGHHH!"

Her scream was prompted because of a loud thump on her side of the car, followed by an ear-piercing howl. Nearly everyone jumped and swore, though whether they were startled by the initial sound or Jamie's shriek was anyone's guess. The slamming turned into knocking and then waving. "Hey!" Raoul's muffled voice sounded from outside the car. Christine reached over to open the door and saw her boyfriend wearing jeans, a polo shirt and a full head werewolf mask.

He took it off in one swift movement and grinned at the van's occupants. "I was a teenage werewolf!" Raoul crowed proudly. Everyone in the car burst into applause.

"Whoo!" Freddy whooped. "Awesome!"

"We accept him, one of us!" Meg shouted and everyone took up the chant. "One of us! One of us!"

Once Raoul was seated semi-securely on the floor of Herbert the Love Bus, they proceeded to drive to their destination. "You know, that's one horror movie I will not watch," Erik said conversationally.

"What, _Freaks_?" Meg asked, eyes wide. "You've never seen _Freaks_? That is something I did not know about you."

Erik shook his head. "I've seen clips, but I won't watch the whole thing. It makes me uncomfortable."

"What else won't you watch?" Christine asked, genuinely curious because it seemed like Erik was up for basically everything. To know that there were horror movies that made him uncomfortable was incredibly interesting.

"I'm not really into torture porn," he confessed. "I liked the first _Saw _movie, but I didn't really give a shit about the rest of them. Um. Some body horror really freaks me out, like _Cabin Fever_bothered me."

"Ugh," Ahmed shuddered and shook his head. "Yeah, that one's tough to watch."

"It's idea of your body literally rotting while you're still conscious inside it," Erik explained. "That, to me, is just repulsive. I don't mind creature features or rotting corpses or demonic possession or anything like that, but the idea of a body putrefying while the person is consciously aware of it is ghastly."

Christine suddenly felt chilled despite the heat of the car. The conversation was suddenly taking a serious turn and Erik's voice sounded...well, it seemed like the comments about being out of control of what your body was doing were very personal to him. In the interest of sensitivity, she rather wanted to change the topic.

"Did everyone like their costumes?" she asked suddenly and the remainder of the trip to the mini-golf emporium was taken up by people either gushing or complaining about their costumes. Ahmed pulled into two spots toward the back of the parking lot because the van was so ginormous and they clambered out. Meg grabbed Christine's hand impulsively and the two of them skipped off toward the entrance, pushing the doors open and getting her first glance at the wonders that lay within.

The first thing that struck Christine was all the bright colors. She'd been expecting a kind of dismal, slightly creepy cave-like atmosphere, reminiscent of old bowling alleys. It couldn't be further from the truth. The walls and floors were black, but covered with neon paint which glowed under the black lights. To Christine's right and left inside the doors was the arcade portion of the building, consisting of air hockey, skee ball, Pac-Man and other games. The 18 hole course meandered maze-like over the floor, differentiated by blocks of wood also painted wacky colors. All around were pictures or models of figures from various horror movies, Christine saw vampires, werewolves, mummies and...mutant Care Bears?

"Not bad, huh?" Erik asked casually over her head.

Christine turned back at him, eyes shining. "This is SO COOL!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down, grabbing Erik's hands. He followed suit and started bouncing as well.

"I KNOW!" he squealed in return. Erik was a naturally loud person, he couldn't help it, it was a quality his friends were used to, but innocent passers-by were not so lucky and a few parents and children looked quite startled at his outburst. It was late enough that the hoards of children who usually dominated such places were either finishing up or leaving, but not so late that the bar crowd would come stumbling in looking for late night entertainment.

They purchased their clubs and balls from a teenage girl wearing a lab coat who grinned when she saw them. "Is it someone's birthday?" she asked as she handed the clubs out.

"Nope," Freddy replied, taking his golfing supplies. "It's just Friday."

She snorted. "Cool - hey, how many of you are there?"

"Ten," Meg, Ahmed and Charlotte chorused together.

She made an apologetic face. "We don't allow groups bigger than six, it holds up the line. Is it okay if I ask you guys to split up?"

Meg's eyes lit up at that. "Ooh, girls versus boys! Girls versus boys!" It was amazing how that innocuous little phrase could turn semi-mature college students into taller, more developed preschool children in an instant.

Even cynical old Erik's mouth turned up in a wicked smile. "Oh, it is _on_, tiny Giry. It is _on_. You girls are going down."


	23. A Heart Full of Love

**AN:** I am the WORST! I'm so, so sorry about taking so long to update. I've been insanely busy/unmotivated, but thanks for the reviews and keeping on me. This chapter was HARD, one of the hardest I've written. Some of you have probably seen this coming for a while, but it was very difficult to translate from my brain to the page.

**Abby of the Cellars**, **Orestes Fallen**, **Alexis**, **S****hineLovely**, **GiantGreenGiraffeAttack** and all my other readers out there, THANK YOU for the continued support. You make me happy and I'll be back to crafting personal replies on the next chapter.

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><p><em>A heart full of love<br>A heart full of song -  
>I'm doing everything all wrong.<br>-A Heart Full of Love_

The neon orange ball rolled promisingly toward the hole in the astroturf before taking a sharp right at the last minute, missing its target completely. Erik groaned aloud, "How is it that you suck so much at this?"

Raoul had the dignity to look affronted. "You guys aren't doing any better!"

"Yeah, but you're rich," Armand pointed out, a small smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. Unlike his friends and companions in this long and lonely road to a college degree, he was not in the least bit competitive. "Rich people golf."

"This isn't really golfing," Raoul replied. "It's, like, action-putting."

"But you're _straight_," Freddy added, bending slightly to whack his golf ball toward the hole. It sank effortlessly into the cup. "And therefore you have to be good at sports."

"Way to stereotype," Armand rolled his eyes and removing the score card. "How many strokes was that."

"Three, what's the par on this hole?"

Armand snorted, "Like we're doing pars? You've got fifteen points so far, that's how we're doing this."

From the next hole, the girls let out a cheer. "Hole in one!" Meg shrieked jumping up and down.

Sorelli stared intently at the scorecard. "Alright, so this was a par 3, that puts you at -4!"

Erik shot Raoul a pointed, disapproving look. "You fail at being our token straight."

"Ahmed's straight!" Raoul cried rather desperately. "Why aren't you being mean to him?"

"Because they knew I sucked at mini-golf before we started this," Ahmed said, reasonably as he took his turn at putting. "I knew we were doomed when you guys were all 'Girls vs. Boys.' I figured it'd all end in failure – shit, sorry!" The latter statement was called to a group of tweenage kids two holes over whose game Ahmed interrupted by knocking his ball into their path.

Erik hopped two holes over to retrieve the ball. "Nice cape, fag," one of the twelve-year-olds smirked.

Erik rose gracefully from the crouch he'd assumed when picking up Ahmed's bright blue golf ball. He fixed the young man with an icy glare and looked him up and down slowly. Some of the young fellow's bravado seemed to flee when he noticed just how _tall_ Erik was. "Oh, sweetie," Erik said in his deepest, smoothest, most dangerous voice. "Don't go there. Don't _ever _go there. I'm a fifth degree black-belt, trained by a master assassin in the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. You'll be struggling to fit your still-beating heart back into your bloody chest cavity before you even realize I've lifted a finger to strike you. I repeat: Don't go there _ever_again. With anyone."

The child emitted a sound which might best be translated as, "Meep!" Job done at terrifying humanity, Erik turned on his heel, cape billowing behind him as he returned to his friends who were trying desperately to hide smiles and giggles by coughing into their hands.

"_Kill Bill_?" Ahmed muttered under his breath, taking his ball back when Erik dropped it into his hands. "And what the hell is a fifth-degree black-belt?"

"Like I have a clue," Erik whispered in return. "And I figured they were too young to know what I was talking about. But it might save some cape wearing little mary-boy a lot of grief someday, so my work here is done."

"For a homicidal maniac, you're just a big softie," his friend replied with a grin.

"Shh," Erik shushed insistently, swatting Ahmed on the arm. "Don't give away my secret!"

They turned back to the game just in time to see Raoul's ball circle just around the edge of the hole before rolling sadly away once more. Freddy let out a howl of disappointment, "Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! Come on, hetero teammate, give us SOMETHING to work with!"

Raoul swallowed visibly (having perched the Wolfman mask on the top of his head so he could putt). Glancing down at his ball a solid two feet from the hole, he raised embarrassed blue eyes to look at his teammates and said, "Uh, I need to, uh, use the bathroom. Just play through, put me down for five - "

"Four!" Freddy insisted. "Put him down for four, I'm sure he would have gotten it on the next one."

Their blonde companion was gone for about ten minutes before anyone suspected that something might be amiss. They were trying valiantly to get their balls past a giant rat in a trash can whose whipping tail sought to knock them back toward the starting point. So far the rat was winning.

Erik flipped his cape over his shoulder and made a face as his ball was rolled back to land at his feet. The girls, meanwhile, let out another whoop that indicated someone just landed a successful hole in one. "Where's Raoul?" he grumbled. "Abandoning us in his hour of need is not remotely chivalrous. He's supposed to be my night in shining armor."

"He's a teenage werewolf tonight," Ahmed pointed out.

"Maybe he's a _real_ werewolf," Freddy speculated excitedly. "Maybe he's transforming in the bathroom _right now_. Think quick: Have any of you guys seen him during a full moon?"

"It's not a full moon tonight, so your theory is shit," Armand responded, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm not okay with that explanation," Ahmed said, looking up from his putt. "Because that means you seriously thought about Raoul being a werewolf and figured it only wasn't true because it's not a full moon tonight, not because werewolves don't exist."

"You have to think about what we're dealing with here," Armand said reasonably. "And going along with his particular brand of crazy is the fastest way to shut him up – oh, hey, good shot."

The latter was said because Ahmed managed to hit the ball past the twitching rat, not because he was anywhere close to being done. It promised to be a long hole.

"I'll be back in a bit," Erik said, handing his putter to Freddy to look after. "If I don't come back from the bathroom after fifteen minutes, assume it's a wormhole to another dimension and tell my parents I died bravely."

"I'll tell them you screamed like a bitch," Freddy smiled.

Expecting no less from his friend and roommate, Erik made his way into the restroom, which was not nearly as gnarly as he expected it to be, given that a large majority of Monster Mini-Golf's business came from hosting birthday parties for children. Despite the fairly descent facilities, Erik stopped just inside the door of the restroom when he saw Raoul, standing with his back to the door, leaning up against the sink, gripping the sides hard.

For one wild, unaccountable moment, Erik was convinced that Freddy's theory had merit and that Raoul _was_ a werewolf, until the unmistakeable sound of sniffling reached his ears. Immediately, Erik turned on his heel and tried to get out the door without being noticed. He did not do touchy-feely and whatever was bothering Raoul was probably something he was not equipped to deal with. Making a quick decision to smuggle Christine into the bathroom so she could provide her boyfriend with a shoulder to cry on, Erik managed to get his hand on the bathroom door before Raoul's quavery voice floated toward him.

"S-sorry. I'll be out in a minute."

"Uh. Cool," Erik said awkwardly. The rational part of his brain implored him to leave. _Just go. Just walk out. He's clearly having a moment and you should have no part of this. Just go_. "Um. You okay?" _You are such an idiot._

"Not...no," Raoul said quietly. "I'm sorry I'm ruining the golf game."

Keeping one hand on the bathroom handle in case he needed to make a quick getaway, Erik just laughed nervously. "Oh, we don't care about that. We all suck. Okay, Freddy might care since he gets competitive, but the rest of us don't care. Want me to tell him to stop being a drama queen? I can go there, I threatened a child tonight."

If he expected Raoul to laugh, he was going to be disappointed. "It's not his fault." Roughly scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned around to look at Erik and, for the first time in their acquaintance, he saw the blonde boy looking less than perfect. He was not a dignified crier, his eyes were bloodshot, his nose red and his skin blotchy.

On the one hand, Erik did feel marginally bad that Raoul was so upset, but he was utterly confused at how a few joking comments from Freddy brought him to tears. Not to dwell on the past, but Erik had probably said a few more acerbic things to him earlier in the year and that never made him cry. What was the difference tonight? "Are things okay...generally?" he asked, more out of curiosity than a desire to offer comfort. He wasn't Ahmed, he never asked people to 'talk' about things.

"No," Raoul said, clearly miserable. "I...if I tell you something, can you...not tell people?"

"I can make no promises," Erik answered immediately. It was the honest truth, when he found out a juicy bit of gossip, he usually had to tell someone _immediately_. Luckily that person was usually Ahmed and Ahmed could keep a secret.

"IthinkI'mgay," Raoul mumbled in a rush, a fresh bout of tears trickling down his cheeks.

Erik froze. He could almost hear the blood pounding in his ears. He had very good ears. Excellent hearing. In order to stall, to give Raoul a chance to backpeddle, he could ask him to repeat what he just said. But he was so startled by the confession that he just heard, his brain could not properly form an escape plan.

"Oh," he said finally. On the one hand, he'd heard this from Raoul before. On the other hand, that was almost half a year ago and he thought it was just a weird, alcohol-induced confession. He was _clearly_ straight. Wasn't he? He was dating Christine. Then again, Erik also wanted to date Christine and he wasn't exactly straight himself. "Um. Does Christine know about this?"

"No," Raoul shook his head vehemently. "I don't know how to tell her. She's such a great girlfriend. She's so pretty and nice and my family loves her and I love her and she's _perfect_, but I don't want to sleep with her." His voice was low and choked, as though he was strangling himself with his own thoughts and words.

Yeah, that would be a hindrance to any relationship. "Oh," Erik replied, distantly concerned that his vocabulary seemed to be shrinking by the minute. "I don't want to tell you how to run your life," he began carefully, "but I think that's something you should tell her."

"Oh, _please_ don't tell her," he begged, looking panic stricken. "Oh my God, don't please - "

"I won't, I won't," Erik said, raising his hands in front of him nervously. "It's just...you're basically leading her on, I'm sorry, I'm confused, why did you start dating her?"

"I thought, I mean, I like her so much and I thought if I dated her I'd eventually feel...y'know about her and I _tried_, I mean, we haven't...slept together, but we've done - "

"Don't want to hear it! I do _not _want to hear it!" Erik exclaimed. If there was one thing that would make this conversation even _more _awkward than it already was it would be hearing all the nitty-gritty details of Raoul and Christine's sex life (or lack thereof). The door of the bathroom opened suddenly and the homophobic twelve-year-old from earlier poked his head in the door.

"The fags have claimed this bathroom, get out!" Erik snapped at him. The boy blanched and slammed the door shut behind him as he ran away.

Raoul's face crumpled again and Erik was afraid he was going to start crying some more, so he reached out and patted the other boy's shoulder as soothingly as he could. "Okay, okay, so you're not...you don't want to...with Christine."

"I've never liked any girl...that way, but I just...she's so _great_ and I thought I could. Someday. And my family was so happy that I had a girlfriend."

"You should not do things – like, get a girlfriend you don't want – to keep your family happy," Erik advised him.

"No, you don't understand," Raoul shook his head despairingly. "I _wanted_ a girlfriend, I still want her to be my girlfriend."

"Well, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that's a little terrible."

"I _know_, I'm an awful person," he moaned, turning and burying his face in Erik's chest as he cried.

How, Erik wondered, did he _ever_ get involved in these situations? All he wanted to do was pee, a base, inherently innocent, utterly human act, something so mundane and normal that it scarcely warranted a mention and now he was stuck with a crying guy in a less than pristine bathroom in Seekonk of all places.

"You're not an awful person," Erik said, patting Raoul's head gingerly. The shorter boy mumbled something unintelligible into Erik's shirt, but he was pretty sure he got the gist. "No, seriously, I've been trying to come up with reasons to think you're terrible all year and I'm pretty sure there aren't any. I've given the matter a lot of thought. You are not awful. It_ is_ awful to date someone you have no interest in _really_ dating. Because if you don't tell them, they will figure it out and they will feel horrible and you don't want to do that to Christine."

"No, I don't," Raoul said, pulling back from Erik's now damp chest. "She's too nice to lead on. I just don't know how to tell her."

Well, Erik was thinking more along the lines of 'If you hurt her, I'll light your hair on fire,' but not wanting to hurt her because she didn't deserve it was probably healthier for them both. "I'm not saying right now, but...sooner rather than later."

Sniffling, Raoul wiped his face again and nodded glumly. "I will. Thanks. You're really nice when you want to be."

"So I've been told," Erik agreed. "Splash some cold water on your face before you leave the bathroom, you'll look like less of a mess." He lingered in the bathroom a little longer after Raoul left to rejoin the human race. For a long minute, he just stared in the mirror above the sink, much in the same way as his sexually confused friend was doing when he walked in on him. How, _how_ did his life get so complicated so quickly? All he bargained for tonight was a game of mini-golf and a little air hockey. It wasn't so much to ask, really and what he got was gay slurs and tearful bathroom confessions.

Emotions were not a strong suit of Erik's, especially other people's emotions. He had enough difficulty sorting his own out that taking on the problems of his friends was never high on his agenda. Who did Raoul think he was slobbering all over him like that? Didn't he know that Erik was emotionally unstable? Didn't he understand that all his advice was bad advice? Hadn't Erik been threatening to steal Christine from under his nose for months and that this might be a nefarious scheme to make her his once and for all? That idea hadn't even occurred to him before this moment, but being her rebound might be better than nothing. Erik was used to the idea of satisfying himself with what he could get, even if it was the dregs of someone's affection.

"On the bright side, it's not like tonight could get worse," Erik muttered to his reflection, giving the mirror a ghastly smile. Heading for the door, a buzzing in his back pocket caused him to stop in his tracks as he removed his phone. Was Raoul coming out in front of the group _now?_ The kid could not have a worse sense of timing.

It turned out to be a new text message:

**So, I'm in town again until Sunday. Want to grab a coffee? Preferably not at The Bistro, bad karma ;-) -Alex**

Before he could respond, the bathroom door slammed open and Ahmed stormed in, glaring at him, antennae twitching angrily. Erik immediately assumed that his friend was going to rip on him for making Raoul cry or, if Raoul _had_, in fact, tearfully confessed to Christine, for ruining their evening with drama, so it was with some relief that he received his dour announcement. "We're being kicked out. Apparently for 'lewd language' in front of children. I blame you."

"That's not so bad," Erik smiled weakly. "It keeps the girls from officially beating us."

"Oh, we got our asses kicked," Ahmed said, grabbing hold of Erik's sleeve and dragging him out of the restroom. "No way we were making a comeback. Not even close. They say we owe them ice cream."

"They'll never take me alive!" Erik declared, puling his arm out of Ahmed's grip.

"Fine," his friend said, making a beeline for the door. "You can just walk home, then."

Erik hesitated for only a moment as he sent a quick reply message:

**K.**


	24. Attack on the Rue Plumet

**AN: **Hey gang! I come with good news: I got a job! Like, a full-time one! Yay! Unfortunately that means updates will not be as regular as they were over the summer, but I'm not going to give up on this story. Thanks for being patient with me._  
><em>

**Alexis - **I was beating my own head against a metaphorical wall because of Erik's poor decision making. Alex is nothing if not a motivated guy and we have not seen the last of him! As for the new story, it's a meet-and-greet with zany hijinx. At least, I hope there will be hijinx. **OrestesFallen -** I'm glad you're excited! **AbbyoftheCellars- **They are so cute! I'm (more or less) back on track with this story. October story has being experiencing some turbulence, but that's okay, it's October story, so I don't need to worry about it yet. As for which version of 1881!Erik we're dealing with, he's not really of any particular universe, though I can only imagine Kay!Erik reacting with horror at the smoking. Bad for the voice, as we know. I love the awkward friendship that is Erik and Raoul, but I think Raoul needs someone more mellow to love, it's why he's so sweet on Christine. **ShineLovely - **As if there was any doubt that the girls were going to win ;-) I was hoping that adding a replacement chapter would pop the story back up to the first page, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Apologies if you missed the replacement chapter when I posted it! **Guest - **Thank you for the kind words, enjoy this chapter!

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><p><em>Oh Lord, somebody help me!<em>  
><em>Dear God, what do I do?<em>  
><em>He'll think this is an ambush.<em>  
><em>He'll think I'm in it too.<em>

_- Attack on the Rue Plumet_

_Christine's right_, Erik thought unhappily. _I only have three outfits and all of them suck._

To be totally honest, Christine never gave voice to the latter half of that statement, but the little cloud of low self-esteem that hung over Erik's mind and sprinkled negativity onto his thoughts made it seem like she had. If he stood before his closet angsting about his limited fashion choices for much longer, he was going to be late for his coffee meet-up with Alex and he was a total bitch about punctuality. Other people's punctuality, of course, not his own. He could be as late as he wanted without shame, but woe to you if you kept him waiting for five minutes.

Really, he had Raoul to thank for this. Erik was so bolstered by his relatively sane reaction to his friend's emotional breakdown that he felt like he could do anything.

"Fuck it," Erik muttered, ultimately settling on wearing the clothes on his back. It wasn't like this was a date, there was no point in expending energy trying to look presentable.

It was _not _a date. Emphatically not a date. Alex didn't 'date,' he used people and stomped on their hearts and broke the tenuous threads of their confidence. Erik knew this, he was just going out for a drink with him because he wanted closure. The kind of closure that didn't end with him curled up in the fetal position, crying so hard he couldn't breathe and holding a razor to his wrists. He wanted to do things like a normal person, go for coffee, all while making it abundantly clear that he had no lingering feelings for him, they could part cordially and he could get on with the rest of his life.

Who did he think he was, anyway? Coming back to town, ambushing him at The Bistro, then asking him to grab a coffee on a random weekend, as though he expected Erik to welcome the invitation.

_You did_, his mind reminded him treacherously. _What was your response time on that text? Two, three minutes?_

But, he reflected as he unchained his bike from its usual position locked to the front steps, what did that matter if he never spoke to him again? They could have a drink, spend fifteen minutes realizing they no longer had anything to say to one another and that would be that. Everything was going fine when they ran into each other outside The Bistro, until Ahmed turned up and got all melodramatic. Erik surprised himself with how calm he was in those first few moments, he just needed to keep it up for the length of time it took to drink a caffeinated beverage.

Erik rode the bike down to the bus stop and took public transport into Providence. He still didn't have his own vehicle – a source of endless amusement to Alex back in the day – so he could ride to the city, then take a bus back to the library. Ahmed was working, he'd let Erik toss his bike in the back of the van and the two of them could ride off to that evening's rehearsal. Like normal people.

The meeting occurred at an unbearably hip little coffee house-cum-restaurant downtown. Alex said he wanted to meet somewhere with 'ambiance,' aka 'somewhere expensive.' The weather still wasn't as warm as it was weeks ago, but since Erik habitually dressed jeans and layers, he was sweaty and out of breath as he chained up his bike. Glancing at his reflection in the large glass windows outside the shop, he made a vain attempt to de-flatten his helmet hair before he headed inside.

He saw Alex sitting at a small table toward the back. He'd evidently ordered already – for both himself and Erik, since he saw a tall mug of something steaming placed before the empty chair obviously meant for him. As usual, he was unbearably perfect and well put-together while Erik felt just this side of slovenly. It was ironic that he was almost always drawn to the most beautiful person in the room when he was such a troll.

"Hey," Erik dropped into the chair, unceremoniously dropping his bike helmet on the table beside the mug. "That for me or are you speed-dating?"

Alex pushed his glasses up his nose and somehow the gesture was elegant. "It's for you, naturally. I don't think I've met anyone who could handle three shots of espresso and four spoonfuls of sugar on top of a full-caf coffee."

"You obviously need to make better friends," Erik said casually. He took a sip from the beverage. It was hot and cloyingly sweet with a bitter aftertaste, exactly as he liked it. The bastard.

Alex was quiet for a minute and started playing with the salt shaker. He seemed to be casting his mind about for something safe to discuss and finally seemed to make up his mind when he asked, "Have you heard Rufus Wainwright's latest?"

Erik rolled his eyes, "I did and I didn't care for it. His appeal has decreased dramatically to me ever since he had a baby. He used to be fun, now he's all family-oriented and domestic."

Alex nodded his agreement and quirked a coy little half-smile. "I preferred him writing from the perspective of a recovering meth addict who was probably engaging in promiscuous sex."

"Exactly."

Alex's smile could best be termed 'dazzling.' Rows of even, white teeth. Like a piranha with exceptional dental care. "That's what I like best about you, you _get_it."

"I liked 'Out of the Game,'" Erik said quickly, eager to disagree with Alex on some point. They weren't supposed to have anything in common. They were on different paths in this life. Alex was on a Highway to Hell, Erik was buying a Stairway to Heaven...or something.

"And 'Welcome to the Ball,' I'm sure," Alex added, almost uncannily perceptive.

_It's like he's a goddamned psychic. Or maybe I'm just really predictable. _Erik hesitated a minute before replying, "Yes, I also liked 'Welcome to the Ball.' But I have a lot of the same problems with this album that I had with 'Release the Stars,' there's a lot of instruments on these tracks and backing vocals that don't really need to be there and, in my opinion, take away from the quality of the composition."

"See, these are the conversations that I've missed," Alex sighed, reaching across the table and running a finger down Erik's long, white hand. Hating himself a little, Erik didn't pull away. It was nice, this illusion of being wanted and Alex, in addition to being a clever little music-maker was also one hell of an illusionist. "It's nice being able to talk without Ahmed yapping in your ear, isn't it?"

Now Erik did pull away. "Don't go there," he warned. "I'm serious Alex, if you want to talk, you can keep him and everyone else out of this."

"Whatever you want," he said easily, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "So..._Les Mis and Cyborgs_, huh? You're not worried that the mashup ship has sailed?"

"Not at all," Erik replied evenly. "Besides, I'm not anticipating Broadway stardom. It's just for fun."

Alex moaned dramatically. "Oh, Erik, have you lost all your _ambition_?"

"You and I have very different definitions of what qualifies as being ambitious."

"A musical you're never going to attempt to find a wide audience for, obtain backing for – are you even going to copyright it?" The tone of his voice was vaguely mocking and completely condescending. A year ago, Erik would have backtracked and attempted to line his life up with Alex's expectations, but now he only waved a hand dismissively.

"Copyright is more of a philosophical concept than a reality these days," he replied. "Anyway, as I believe you pointed out, his Highness Cameron Mackintosh would sue me."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Alex asked rhetorically, sounding very pleased with himself. "So, has this just-for-fun project come out of the planning stage?"

"There's a brief treatment floating around. And...a few songs. Rough melodies, filler lyrics, you know." Actually, it was a little more than that, but not being a _complete _moron (though, that point could be disputed), he wasn't about to let on. Freddy was daily emailing him squiggly figures drawn in MS Paint during his math class that he claimed were preliminary designs for costumes.

"I'd love to hear what you have," Alex said. Erik's face must have betrayed some negative emotion, a narrowing of the eyes, a twitch in a muscle in his jaw because Alex had the gall to look vaguely hurt. "Oh, really now. I'm not about to put my name on your going-nowhere pet project."

"Right, you only put your name on my pet projects that are sure to benefit you in some way." Erik folded his arms and tried to keep his expression neutral. He'd been drinking his coffee to quickly, his head felt stuffed with cotton and his stomach was queasy. Or maybe it was just the uncomfortable situation. "So, the question on our audience's mind is this: After a year of radio silence, what brings Alex Vilardi back into the life of Erik Theroux?"

"Oh God, are you still doing that third-person thing?"

"Inquiring minds want to know." Erik leaned back, balancing on the rear legs of his chair. "You can't seriously expect to waltz back in my life after a year and a half of no-contact and think I'm going to throw myself at you, did you?"

It was clear from the silence at the other end of the table and tightening of a muscle in Alex's jaw that this was precisely what he had been thinking.

_And why not?_ The cruel little thought bubbled up to the surface of his mind, try as he might to squash it down. _You would fall all over yourself to please him, spend time with him. You blew off your friends, you sacrificed your life whenever he sent a text or called. Why would you expect him to think things would be different now? He must know what you did after he left. _

"Well, I thought a little throwing would be nice, sure," Alex said at last, smiling that dangerous smile. "I made you, after all."

It was only the fact that they were in a public place and he would be required to pay the damages that Erik didn't throw his drink in Alex's face. The public nature of their location did not, however, preclude him from raising his voice so that other patrons turned and stared.

"Are you _shitting _me? You made me. What is that even supposed to mean?"

"God, keep your voice down, will you? You're so _loud_, Erik. And maybe 'made' was a poor verb choice, but you can't deny that your life was better after I got there than before."

Oh, God, was that true? Erik's crippling self-doubt began overtaking his rational thought process. How many friends did he have before he met Alex? Three, maybe four on a good day. And after? More than four. He definitely came out of his shell his sophomore year of high school, he auditioned for shows, got cast in them, met people…but hadn't that been his doing? Alex didn't even go to school with him…but the logic of inferiority is a strange one. Since there was nothing inherently good or attractive about him, Erik thought, all positive attributes people saw in him had to be due to something else, something imagined, maybe or the influence of a better person on his life. Things did get better after he met Alex. Things also got so much worse.

Alex reached out and stroked his arm. "There, there," he said mockingly. "Truth hurts, but you know that, right?"

Something in the action of having his arm squeezed and that combination of words brought a memory to the front of Erik's consciousness. Blue eyes looking up at him in concern as a curly head of blonde hair leaned against his shoulder.

_Everyone cares about you so much. You know that, right?_

In one swift move, Erik pushed himself away from the table, away from Alex. "Gotta go," he said, picking up his bike helmet and turning toward the door. Before he walked away, he tossed a crumpled five dollar bill on the table. "For the coffee. I don't want to owe you anything."


	25. One Day More

**AN: **Next chapter! This one is rather wordy and not super plotty, but I hope you enjoy!

**ShineLovely- **Thank you for the congratulations! I was so proud of my little Erik too, he walked out like a boss! Look who's growing up (taking his meds and going to therapy have also helped improve his responses to stress). I actually heard a song recently that made me think of Erik's character arc over the course of this story, "The Piano is Not Firewood Yet" by Regina Spektor. **Abby of the Cellars - **Thank you! And Alex will not be Buquet-ed in this story, not in a death-way, anyway. And I have a feeling you're going to be frustrated with this chapter. Apologies! ;-)

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><p><em>One day more.<br>Another day, another destiny.  
>This never ending road to Calvary...<br>-One Day More_

Erik did not return home after his encounter with Alex. That's how he thought of it, an encounter, like a glimpse of alien life because it was all too bizarre to quantify as anything more mundane. The question 'What do you want with me?' was swirling in his mind as he peddled furiously away from downtown, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Clearly nothing had changed for Alex in the last year and a half, he wanted to come back, take the best Erik had to offer and leave the worst of him behind when he'd taken all that was of value to him. But something had changed for Erik and he was no longer willing to allow Alex to control his every thought. Even if he wasn't convinced himself that he was worthy of more than use as a sometimes-workhorse, _other people _thought he had merit. Ahmed did. Christine did. They probably would have been very proud of him for walking away from that situation - though they might have preferred he not go in the first place. Ah well, baby steps.

Of course, Erik was still inherently _Erik_, so in order to clear his head he stopped off at CVS, bought a cheap sketch pad and packet of pens and headed to the nearest graveyard.

The sun was beginning to set when he got there, bathing the tops of the headstones in a blood-red light. Leaning his bike up against the nearest obelisk, he sat down and leaned against an obliging stone to do a bit of drawing.

This was better than music, as a way of calming the hell down. Music was never soothing for Erik, not when he was writing it himself. It got his heartbeat up, kept him from sleeping. With drawing, he was only ever depicting something right in front of him. It made him concentrate on the details of something outside himself and that relaxed him.

As he started to lose the light, his phone buzzed to life in his pocket. Erik sighed and removed it with some trepidation, expecting some passive-aggressive text from Alex. He was therefore delighted to see Christine's name pop up on the screen...though her message was strange.

**wat r u doing? i need 2 talk 2 u**

Erik's brow furrowed as he considered the substance of the text. It was short and not particularly revealing, like most of her phone communications, but 'needing' to talk to him was odd. She seemed fine at rehearsal that morning - oh. Oh God. Had Raoul cried all over her too? He sincerely hoped not, and anyway, if she was all upset about learning her boyfriend was gay, wasn't that something she should be bitching about with her girlfriends? Erik was most definitely _not _a girlfriend.

**I'm around, what's up?**

**want 2 go 2 gregs? i need cake**

Oh, yeah. Raoul had _definitely _cried all over her.

**Sure, I'll wait for you there. I'm literally 5 minutes away.**

**im already in the parking lot. ill get us a table**

_Are Sorelli and Meg busy or something? How far down am I in this phone tree of adolescent relationship drama?_

Christine was wearing sunglasses, but she took them off almost immediately when Erik slid into the booth. He noticed that her eyes were red and she noticed him noticing. "Sorelli basically forced these on me," she explained with a dry little laugh. "She said people can always tell when someone's been crying break up tears and she wanted to spare me the looks of pity."

Erik adopted his best Pity Face (basically a standard pout, but with wider eyes) and reached across the table to pat her hand. "My condolences," he intoned seriously. So she _had_talked to Sorelli, at least. That still left the question of why Christine thought Erik was a person remotely qualified to comfort her in her hour of need.

Christine laughed and this time it was a little perkier. "Ha, thanks. I figured I don't mind a little pity. God, I'm so stupid. I shouldn't be upset, I shouldn't even be _surprised_. I mean, he told me he was gay months ago – I never told you, did I? Raoul came out on Halloween or, at least, he kind of came out, he said he thought that he might be gay and he had a crush on you, but then he never said anything else and after what happened in New Hampshire he was so _sweet_and I thought..." she trailed off and buried her face in her hands, groaning. "Gah! He's such an asshole."

Erik assumed this was all a repeat of a conversation she'd had with the girls where they probably commiserated about how terrible all men. Understandable and he'd hardly begrudge them some momentary misandry, but maybe the time had come for a opinion. "He's not an asshole," he said, hardly believing the words that were coming out of his mouth.

His dessert companion seemed similarly shocked. "Oh, come _on_," she pleaded, looking up at him through her fingers. "You basically hate Raoul, you are _not _supposed to be reasonable right now."

"Can I take your order?" a waitress interrupted them to ask.  
>"Death by Chocolate cake and a water," Christine answered, without looking up at her.<p>

Erik took it upon himself to play the normal person for the evening. He looked up and made eye contact with the waitress as he ordered, "Chocolate creme pie please, and a cup of coffee."

"Do you ever think you drink too much coffee?" Christine asked as the waitress walked away.

"You can never have too much coffee."

Ordinarily, she would dispute the point, but she was feeling too overwrought about her own life to sum up a great deal of distress over Erik's poor dietary choices. "Anyway, you _hate _Raoul, why are you not on my side?"

Shrugging uncomfortably, Erik clarified, "I'm not _not_ on your side, I just don't think this is a taking sides situation. And I _used _to hate Raoul, I don't anymore – that's basically your fault, by the way, I decided to like him for you."

"Well, you're obviously a much better judge of character than I am," Christine sighed. If she'd taken Erik's stance on shunning Raoul from day one she would never have known how sweet he was, how he was such a good listener and genuinely nice guy. Dammit, Erik was right. Raoul was not an asshole.

"I am really, really not," he shook his head. "And you don't really think Raoul's an asshole either, you're just pissed and you're allowed to be pissed – please, like I would ever tell someone they aren't allowed to say things they don't mean when they're upset, that's pretty much my modus operandi – but I'm not going to add fuel to the fire."

"Why not?" she pouted, leaning back on the booth and folding her arms. She figured if _anyone_ would join her in a cathartic release of all post-breakup bad mojo it would be Erik. God, _nothing_was working out the way she wanted it to anymore, was it? Was she in an alternate reality? One where Raoul was gay and Erik was a sane person? At the moment, Christine would much rather be getting to third base with Raoul while Erik had an emotional breakdown in the corner. Even if it wasn't fun, it would be less unpredictable than this current scenario.

"Uh, because in a week, maybe two, you guys are going to go back to being friends, probably better friends than you were _before_you started making out on a regular basis and I'm not going to be that douchebag who badmouthed Raoul to you while you were on the rebound." All major advice columnists would agree that this was the course of action that made the most sense.

"Or I could keep totally hating him," Christine observed.

"Unlikely."

"Well, that's what happened when you broke up with your last boyfriend," she blurted out somewhat spitefully. In true Christine fashion, she regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed in a rush. "Oh my God, I'm a horrible person, I know he treated you badly. Um. I mean. I didn't mean to say that. Uh. I mean, I didn't know. What boyfriend?"

"It's whatever," Erik shrugged again, not even a little surprised that someone told Christine about the debacle that was him and Alex. Earlier in the year he would have been furious, but since she'd seen him at his worst already and knew what a crazy-pants he could be, the subterfuge was moot. "I figured you probably found out after I freaked at the Bistro. But the difference here is that my...whatever..._was_a total asshole and Raoul's not. He's a nice guy, which is very different from being a completely evil, manipulative motherfucker. Who I just made the mistake of meeting for coffee, by the way, if you want to talk about poor decision making."

"Tonight?" Christine squeaked, eyes wide, happy to be diverted by tales of relationship woes that were not her own.

"Yep," Erik nodded. "He was devilishly handsome and utterly charming."

"Oh, Erik, you're not back with him, are you?" she asked worriedly. "Because that's a bad idea."

"I'm not with anyone," he reassured her. "I'm bad in romantic relationships."

"Not that I know all the details, but I wouldn't call what you had with that guy a 'romance.'"

"I'd call it a Bad Romance," he quipped humorlessly. "The stuff club music is made of. Isn't that sad? Two people who consider themselves talented musicians whose lives can best be summed up by a Lady Gaga song. Would you consider that apt?"

"I like Lady Gaga," Christine said. "But I think at the end of the day, you shouldn't be with someone if they make you feel bad about yourself. Which is bad advice coming from me because being with Raoul made me feel really good."

This was a fact, Raoul always complimented her, never blew her off, answered her texts in a timely manner and didn't seem annoyed when she took forever answering his. In retrospect, it all seemed too good to be true.

"We should just date each other," Christine said suddenly, realizing as she said it that she was only half-kidding. In the moment, it didn't seem to be a bad idea. "Then we wouldn't have these problems."

The speed at which Erik snapped his head up to look at her could have caused whiplash. Her? Date _him_? Rebound, he determined quickly. She was on the rebound and he was the closest breathing male. It didn't mean anything. "Oh, we'd just develop new problems," Erik replied, more calmly than he felt. "And we wouldn't have anyone to talk to about them."

"I guess you're right," Christine said glumly. Her phone buzzed and she thrust it at Erik. "Oh god, just take it. Take it. I can't deal right now."

Flipping Christine's phone open, Erik glanced at the number and saw Sorelli's smiling face pop up on the screen. "Hello," he answered, pitching his voice up a few octaves and adding a breathy quality he ordinarily did not possess. Christine almost choked on her water, then giggled threw her spluttering.

"_Hey, hon, just calling to check in. You sound way better than you did before, so that's good."_

"Thanks," Erik said, still mimicking Christine's voice. He was better at imitating other men, he usually couldn't do girls for more than a few monosyllables before someone caught on.

The actual Christine shoved her fist against her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly and giving the game away. He'd go with it as long as Christine kept smiling.

"_Did you meet up with Erik?"_

"Uh-huh."

"_Okay, good. Well, if you need to tap that to get over your Blondie Bear, I say go for it. - "_

"_I DON'T. I DO NOT. Christine! I officially oppose this idea!" _Meg's voice, tinny and muffled, came insistently through over the line.

"_Shut up, Meg! If she needs to get it on with Erik, that's her business - "_

"_But it's SUCH A BAD IDEA. He's not in a good place right now. SHE'S not in a good place right now. DON'T LISTEN TO SORELLI REBOUND SEX - "_  
>"<em>Can be really good if that's what you want! Is that what you want, Christine?"<em>

Erik felt that this conversation was disproving all of those relationship guidebooks that said men were the only ones who were all about sex all the time. Unfortunately, being a dude, he felt he was totally out of his depth in this conversation. "Uhhh," was about all he managed, but that was enough for the girls.

"_Want me to get Charlotte on the phone? She'll side with me!"_

"_Ugh, Char's a giant prude, Meggy, of COURSE she'll side with you."_

"_That's still two on one! TWO ON ONE!"_

"_You do you, Christine! YOU DO YOU!"_

"'K, thanks," Erik replied.

"What are they saying?" Christine asked, still grinning. "You look super confused."

Erik held up one finger to silence her, as Sorelli was still talking. "_Okay, I just wanted to say, I'm with you. Whatever you want to do is cool. YOLO."_

YOLO? Oh wow, way to make Erik throw up in his mouth a little. And, if one parsed that comment with the usual connotations of the phrase, usually employed when someone is going to do something absurdly stupid. Like drag racing backwards down a highway after a night of heavy drinking. Hardly comparable to a spot of rebound sex with him. "Really?" he asked, dropping the affected Christine!voice. "YOLO? I'm hurt, Sorelli."

A shriek came from the other end of the phone. "_**ERIK?! **__OH MY GOD, DID YOU - "_

But he snapped the phone shut and handed it back to Christine. "That was awesome," she said, slipping the phone back into her purse. The waitress returned with their cake and Erik's coffee. "That was so funny, thanks - it's also kinda creepy that you can do voices, can you do Meg?"

"Oh my God, so not a challenge," Erik said, in a close approximation of Meg's fast-talking squee. "I do a _devastating _impression of Tim, I'm proud to say. It's come in handy in the past."

"I'll bet," Christine said, digging into her cake. "Did she say anything important? Before she started yelling at you."

Erik shrugged and took a large spoonful of whipped cream. "Not really, just wanted to make sure you were feeling better." Which had been the gist of that conversation. Sorelli equated feeling better with having ill-conceived sexual encounters. It was one of her major flaws as a human being.

"That's nice," Christine said, taking a bite of cake. "I'll be okay, I guess break-ups happen to everyone. Part of growing up, yadda yadda yadda."

"Think of it as a formative emotional experience. Use the grief you feel now to fuel your performance as Cosette," Erik suggested.

"Yeah, that'll be really helpful to be bummed over Raoul when he's making moon eyes at me. Gah, we have to kiss tomorrow! Oh, it's going to be so awkward."

"Eh, it won't be any more awkward than me kissing the hem of Charlotte's dress every night at the end of senior year. THAT was awkward."

"You're going to have to tell me about that sometime," Christine said. "When I'm in a better mood and can appreciate it."

"Will do," Erik nodded. "Just take it one day at a time?"

"One day more?" she asked in a teasing tone.

"Don't push it, Christine," he warned her. "If your grief consists of terrible, show-related puns, I'm taking my dessert and leaving."


	26. At the Barricade

AN: Full-time jobs and school take up a lot of time (surprise, surprise), but I'm back! Here's a little Hanukkah presents for you folks, thanks for sticking with it. And if any of you were wondering when my crossover fic with BleedingHeartConservative was going up...um...we're working on it? TBA? I'm sorry, we're slackers, but it hasn't been dropped!

**Guest** - Thank you! **ShineLovely -** Better late than never, eh? **OrestesFallen - **Aww, I'd never hate on Raoul, he's going through a tough time. Even Erik's hard heart has softened toward him. I'm glad you liked the phone call and I might someday post the epic tale that was their senior year Man of La Mancha. **StarCatcher1858 - **I hope you don't miss this update (especially since its been so long coming). Thank you for the lovely review, I'm glad you like the story. It's a little different from a lot of things out there, I'm happy it resonates with people. **Alexis - **Thank you, it's a good job, it just takes up a lot of time. I too wonder if Christine and Erik will get together in the future ;) Honestly, sometimes I have no idea where this story is going. I do know that we haven't seen the last of Alex, he's too much of a fun villain to keep out of the story forever. **animechika24601 - **You are welcome to review as many times as you want to! You motivated me to get this next chapter up before the last night of Hanukkah, so clearly it worked :-) I hope you like it.

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><p><em>Here upon these stones<em>  
><em>We will build this barricade!<em>  
><em>-At the Barricade<em>

"_With all the anger in the land, how long before the Judgment Day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size? Before the barricades a - " _

"Hold! Erik what are you doing with your left hand?" Tim interrupted.

Erik paused. He actually had no idea what he was doing, honestly he hadn't thought about it. He was singing a sweeping musical number, raising an arm just seemed to be the thing to do. "Um...reaching for the future?"

Tim wasn't buying it. "Either get some motivation behind that gesture or lose it."

Nodding mutely, Erik glanced down at Raoul and gave him a wry smile and a shrug. No point in arguing with Tim this close to opening. Erik smiled back half-heartedly and tried to run his fingers through his hair to vent a little frustration. They got stuck.

Growling quietly, he tried to discreetly wipe his hands on his pants, but was stopped by Chester who called out, "Don't you _dare_! Those clothes aren't being laundered until opening, you are not allowed to get mousse on them!"

"My head feels like it's been encased in cement!" Erik yelled back, rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to remove the offending product. "I swear, I am _this _close to pulling a Jeremy Brett and cutting it all off."

"NO!" Marilyn, their wig and hair lady, shouted from her seat somewhere in the house. "Do not even _think _about touching the curls, we need the curls!"

"No bipolar haircut," Maddy agreed in a warning tone. In her role as Mme. Thernardier, her hair had been teased back to the heights it achieved in her senior picture, taken some twenty years prior. It was not her best look, but did you see her complaining? No. You did not.

During his hair and make up consultation, great effort had been placed on trying to make Erik look boyish. At eighteen, that might be thought of as an odd consideration, but with his pockmarked skin and starved appearance, Erik did have a tendency to read as older on stage. It was something he accepted, ordinarily he could live with it, but ordinarily he did not have two women from the costume crew attacking him with a curling iron and half a bottle of 'Totally Twisted' hair gel.

"Jeremy Brett?" Raoul muttered at Meg, tucking his own hair behind his ears. Marius, they decided could have straight hair so all he had in terms of product was a little hairspray to keep it off his face.

"Sherlock Holmes," she said, as though that explained anything. She adjusted the ratty shawl she was wearing as one of the nameless poor in this scene and elaborated. "He didn't like having his hair slicked back for the show, so he cut it all off."

"That was an excuse, it was a bipolar haircut," Erik insisted. "Lots of people with bipolar disorder suddenly decide to cut off all their hair in a fit of pique. We've all been there. I've done it before, I'll do it again."

"You will _not_," Chester said, getting up from his mark to cross toward Erik, wagging his finger menacingly. "I know where you _sleep_, child, and if you let scissors within one _inch _of your hair before this show closes, I will - "

"Chester get back to your mark!" Tim exploded from the audience. Then, after a brief, tense pause added, "Please." Chester cocked an eyebrow at him and seemed close to mouthing off, but, recognizing the stress that their director was suffering from and silently walked back to his place stage right. "Christine, Geoff, we're ready for you - CHRISTINE!"

"Sorry!" they heard her shouting from backstage. Christine emerged, breathless and red-faced, almost swallowed up by her costume. She was really such a tiny girl and she was wearing an awful lot of period-accurate dress. The musical was set at a time of awkward transition in women's clothing, away from the slim silhouette favored by Jane Austen's heroines and toward the frippery and hoop skirts of the mid-19th century and the whole thing combined to make Christine look like a blonde cupcake. Marilyn said she was going to work on it before opening, but their Cosette just looked silly at the moment. Not to mention the fact that she was not used to wearing long skirts with layers of petticoats, it made running to the stage from the bathroom difficult.

Tim didn't want to press the issue, they were burning daylight as it was. "Okay, just...walk into Raoul if you could. Gaspard?"

Their accompanist started the music and Erik, having nothing to do for the rest of the scene walked backstage, throwing himself dramatically on the floor where the other barricade boys were lounging, his head winding up on Ahmed's lap. "Hey!" his friend said, giving him a shove. "No hair shit on my pants either, Chester will kill us _both_and then this show will fucked because you won't have an understudy."

"It's already fucked," Erik said gloomily. "We've got two weeks before press night and half the cast doesn't have costumes."

That was a slight exaggeration. Everyone in the case had costumes, but not everyone in the cast had all the costumes they needed. Erik, for instance, was missing a frock coat for the scene they'd just run, their Javert didn't have any hats (John claimed he needed the hats as part of his character development) and Madeline was missing a dress for the wedding scene. It was all very typical given that they were still almost three weeks away from opening night, but that didn't make the situation any less stressful.

"Dudes," an affectless voice over their heads made the assembled party look up. It was Slade, their SM, out of his usual hidey-hole in the tech booth. "Can I borrow you for a minute?"

"Literally a minute?" Armand asked. "Since Tim will kill us dead if we miss a cue."

"Literally a minute," he assured them. In his hand was a small camcorder, viewscreen flipped out and ready for use. "I just need you to stand up, turn and look at the camera and sing 'and the turntable's making us dizzy.' It's for the website."

Bev, their Fantine, understandably got bored spending so many hours of rehearsal backstage twiddling her thumbs and she decided to transfer her boredom into action. In order to hype up the show and drum up enthusiasm from the under-30 set, she'd been taking movies of backstage happenings to post to Facebook, Twitter and Youtube. Her latest burst of inspiration was parody videos, shamelessly lifting music and lyrics from Forbidden Broadway to accomplish her goals. Evidently she'd roped Slade into this task.

"Shouldn't you be calling cues?" Erik asked, rising bonelessly from the floor.

"Tim'll be holding at least five times before the next cue." He motioned the guys to stand against the wall and held up the camera. "Alright, so, just turn around when I count to three. One. Two - "

"TURNTABLE GO!" Shouted an exasperated voice from out in the theatre. Slade's eyebrows shot up - clearly he'd overestimated the time he'd have before the next cue. There was a pause, then one of the ASMs must have given the go because the whirring of the turntable engine was audible backstage. Erik, Ahmed, Armand and the rest of the barricade crew started running for the stage when there was a loud creaking sound and a thunderous crack from below the stage.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?"

Timothy Reyer was not a prolific swear-er by nature. Unlike others of his acquaintance, he did not possess a potty mouth, under ordinary circumstances. However, hearing the sound of breaking machinery two weeks before his show opened in previews would be enough to shake the hardest of hearts.  
>"JULES!" the ordinarily mild-mannered director bellowed. "WHERE IS JULES?"<p>

Their head set builder had been eating and came running out from backstage with a deli sandwich in hand. "I was on break," he groused. "What is it?"

"DID YOU NOT JUST HEAR THAT?" Evidently, Tim's capslock key was stuck. "WHAT IS GOING ON WITH MY STAGE?"

"Sounds like one of the gears broke off," Charlie called down helpfully from his post in the tech booth. "Hang on, I'll check it out." Erik's father had been an engineering major in another life and was pretty good with fixing whatever went wrong with their productions, but his tinkering prowess was not comforting to the frazzled director.

"I can't believe this is happening," Tim muttered, running a hand threw his already mussed hair and pinching the bridge of his nose so hard he was probably cutting off his blood supply. "Two weeks. _Two weeks _until press night. God - everyone take a ten. What time is it? Never mind, go on dinner break. Just get off the stage, don't make it worse."

As Tim walked to the wings to get under the stage and assess the damage with his crew, the cast glanced around nervously at one another. "Want to make that video now?" Erik asked Slade, in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. Slade just shook his head and wordlessly handed the camera to him as he joined the surveyors below the stage.

"Now what do we do?" Andrew asked, looking around at the retreating, grumbling backs of the company.

"Eat tacos?" Ahmed suggested. "I could go for tacos.

"Take your costumes off!" Marilyn shouted over her shoulder. "And try not to sweat too much, I'm not laundering anything until next week."

"I like tacos," Raoul said, shrugging out of his jacket and untying his cravat. "Should we ask the girls?"

Erik smiled a wicked sort of smile and turned the camera on. "Sure. It would only be right."

Freddy leapt in front of the camera excitedly, grinning hugely. "We are about to witness a rarely seen phenomena: the ritual undressing of the female stage actor," he'd affected an outrageous British accent. "Typically a ritual taking untold hours, we will see how quickly they shed their skins and adopt new ones when the enticement of tacos is introduced."

"They're often territorial," Armand added, the top of his head the only thing visible until Erik adjusted the angle so his face came into focus. "We might hear strange sounds when we approach, so caution is called for - ."

"_Extreme _caution," Ahmed advised. "'Lest they attack." Since his father had spend most of his formative years in London, his accent was better than most.

Stifling giggles and running down the hallway, the boys burst unceremoniously into the women's dressing room, which was a flurry of corsets and petticoats being thrown around. "Hel-_loo_, ladies!" Erik said, smiling broadly and sweeping the camera from right to left to take in the sight of his half-dressed castmates. The predictable screaming and shouts of indignation ensued and a very well-positioned costume assistant threw Christine's extra-poufy dress right over Erik's head.

"Hey!" he shouted, muffled by the layers of fabric. "This is an important nature documentary we're filming."

"Like fuck it is," Charlotte's voice rang loud and clear through the dress. A pair of hands found the small of his back and frog-marched him to the door. "Just you bitches wait - just you wait!"

The others were similarly routed and turned out into the hallway, Erik still had Christine's dress over his head as the door slammed behind him. "Hey," he called pulling the dress off, freshly curled hair flying everywhere. "Don't you want your dress back?"

"She's getting another one tonight," a costume assistant yelled back. "Keep it!"

"I will!" Erik replied, not the faintest idea what he should do with it. He figured brainstorming was the answer to this conundrum. "Okay, who wants it?"

"Don't you want to keep it?" Freddy asked in a would-be-innocent voice. "As a souvenir? Since that's the farthest up Christine's skirt you're ever going to - " but the rest of his response was lost as he bolted down the hallway, Erik hot on his heels.

"You are a douchebag!" he called down the hallway, but there was no bite in his words.

Ahmed was trailing along after him, laughing his head off. Erik had been so mellow recently, it was almost uncanny. He should probably be worried that this was leading up to another bad episode, but so far all was well and he'd take what he could get. It was a relief, considering how things were when Alex was in town, but there'd been no word from him in weeks, so Ahmed was willing to assume the whole thing was a bizarre one-off. "At least give me the camera!" he pleaded, still laughing. "It's not yours! And none of this is going on the website!"

"Isn't it?" Erik asked rhetorically. He slowed his running and started twirling the dress over his head by one arm as though it was a lasso. When it built up enough momentum, he chucked it at Freddy who went down, half-obscured by frippery and lace.

"It doubles as a lasso!" the would-be cowboy cried, delighted.

"This is not _Oklahoma!_" Kevin insisted. As the senior member of the party, he probably ought to have made an effort to temper the madness, but it was too funny to stop.

"Isn't it?" Erik asked again, turning with a manic glint in his eye. "_Isn't it?_"

"All musicals are _Oklahoma!_" Ahmed said solemnly. "All musicals since _Oklahoma! _are _Oklahoma!_"

"I can't breathe!" Freddy squealed from the floor. "Save me! He's _strangling me!_"

"If I was strangling you, you wouldn't be able to talk," Erik observed reasonably, kneeling by Freddy's prone form and zooming in on his half-obscured face. "How does defeat feel, Richards? Is it as bitter as victory is sweet?"

"It is a far, far better thing I do now than I have ever done before," Freddy intoned. "It is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known."

"I think you broke the fourth wall or something," Kevin said, shaking his head sadly. "We don't know what 19th century melodrama we're in anymore."

"Maybe we could do _Scarlet Pimpernel _instead?" Raoul asked eagerly.

Erik sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Have I taught you _nothing?_ _Scarlet Pimpernel is _18th century!"

Raoul looked crestfallen. "I thought _Les Mis _was 18th century."

"1800s, 19th century," Armand corrected him, patting his arm sympathetically. Then, seeing that the drama around him had basically died down asked, "So, tacos?"

"Tacos," Freddy confirmed, untangling himself from Christine's dressed. He considered the roughed-up garment for a moment and said, "What are we doing with this?"

Erik plucked it from his friend's hands and said, "We keep it, of course. If they want it back, they can come and get it. Like the most fabulous variation on Capture the Flag that you can imagine."

The mood was lighthearted all the way back to the men's dressing rooms until they heard the unmistakable sound of something sawing through wood. Erik paused outside the entrance to the wings. "Huh. I guess the damage was worse than I thought."

"Should we be worried?" Raoul asked, shooting Erik a very worried look indeed.

The taller boy frowned, but shook his head. "We're two weeks out. Hardcore sleepless-night worrying doesn't start until next Sunday."

"This is more the time for hand-wringing, overeating worrying," Ahmed clarified. "And you know what that means."

"Tacos!"


	27. On My Own

AN: Guys. You guys. I have NO excuse other than the usual 'Blah, blah, work, blah, blah school,' which I'm sure you're sick of, so I'll be quiet and let you get to the chapter. Also, my collaboration with BleedingHeartConservative is back on it's feet (yay!) hopefully I'll be posting the first few chapters of that within the next few weeks.

**ShineLovely** - Tacos are brilliant. And THANK YOU for encouraging me to get my butt in gear, I've had bits and pieces written, but writer's block + life meant this got shelved for WAY longer than it should have. You're lovely, all my readers are lovely, but thanks for not forgetting about me! **Alexis -** Happy (belated) New Year! I guess Happy St. Patrick's Day (I promise I will not just be doing holiday updates, that would be cruel). Raoul tries SO hard and just consistently fails, poor pup. **GiantGreenGiraffeeAttack - **Sorry about the wait! I will not do that to you again, come hell, high water or writer's block. **NadirofConflict - **Welcome aboard the good ship Company where the party never stops and the weed is free! **Aaron Tveit - **Not dead! Just (mostly) dead, but back now! **StarCatcher185****8 - **Hey, I had internet and haven't been on vacation since 2004, so I have no excuse for not updating! Thanks for the review and the Tim-sympathy! No wonder the poor guy's gone gray already, mounting giant musicals is stressful. Did you like the movie? I'm curious, everyone I know whose seen it has already seen the stage show.

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><p><em>Without me,<br>His world will keep on turning.  
>A world that's full of happiness<br>That I have never known.  
>- On My Own<em>

Regardless of the fact that they were starring in one of the greatest musicals to hit the Broadway stage in the last fifty years, the student cast members weren't getting paid and still needed to feed themselves. For Ahmed, that meant putting in twelve to twenty hours a week at the local public library.

It wasn't bad, as jobs went. He didn't have to work with food, like Charlotte, Freddy and Christine. He didn't have to work exclusively with uncoordinated children like Jamie and Meg when they instructed little kids at their dance studio. He didn't even have to wear a tie like Erik when he played the organ for dead people. All Ahmed had to do was slather on deodorant, dress and remember the alphabet and how to count. Not a bad deal.

What he did have to do, sometimes begrudgingly, was deal with the public. The library was small and relatively suburban, but on a bus line. That meant the patron base was a mixture of regulars, retirees, parents with children, the odd college student and whacked out semi-hobos who fell asleep in the reference room. Most of time, it was a pretty decent job, but every few shifts someone would come along and turn his life into hell for ten minutes. Today it was a young-ish guy who was arguing with him over a fine.

"But I returned them."

Ahmed resisted the urge to sigh, "Yeah, I know, but you returned them late. It's a dollar a day for DVDs, you had six movies out and I can't let you check out any more until you get the fine down to five dollars. So if you give me a dollar, we're good."

The dude frowned and his hand did not move to open his wallet, Ahmed knew the conversation was just beginning. "It's just a dollar," he said. "Why can't you let it slide?"

_It's just a dollar_, Ahmed thought to himself. _Why can't you just pay it and stop being a pain in my ass?_ "Because it's a policy. You can't check out if you owe more than five dollars in fines."

"But I didn't know that!" the guy protested, his voice taking on a whiny tone that Ahmed _so_ did not have the patience for. "I didn't know the movies were a dollar a day! I thought this was a library, what kind of library makes you pay for movies?"

"We don't make you pay for movies - "

"You're saying I owe you six bucks!"

"Yeah," Ahmed spoke very slowly, as if to a child or a half-deaf person. "But that's not for the _movies_. It's for the _fine_ because you returned them _late_."

"A day late!"

"Yeah. Six movies. A dollar a day per overdue item. That's six dollars. And you need to pay a dollar of that if you want to take any more out." He couldn't believe this was happening - oh, no, wait, he _could_, it was a conversation he had every freaking week, usually haggling over charges between 10 cents and two dollars. A woman whose kid mutilated a _Cars_ Blu-Ray because he "wanted to see how it worked" cheerfully paid a twenty-five dollar replacement charge just a half an hour ago. The anger of patrons regarding fines was usually an inverse reaction to the amount owed.

"I'm a taxpayer!" the guy thundered.

_Bullshit, you are_, Ahmed thought cynically, looking at the address in his library record. _You live in fucking Smithfield. Go to their goddamn library and leave me alone._

Lucky for Ahmed, he didn't really have the authority to tell this guy to go fuck himself or even waive the charges. The only person who could do that was Lou, who had a sixth sense for irate patrons and usually managed to calm them down with a smile and a douse of charm unique to middle aged men from Italian families. "Hey," Lou said, turning on the thousand-watt grin and running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair with a self-conscious casual air. "How's it going?"

The friendliness disarmed the patron who looked from Ahmed to Lou, unsure who he should be complaining to. "Uh...are you the manager?"

"I'm the director, yeah," Lou nodded, sticking out his hand. "My name's Lou, nice to meet you."

The patron paused and took the proffered limb, giving it a quick shake and placing his hands in his pockets. He was already going for his wallet. Ahmed eyed his boss with appreciation; damn the guy was good. Edging away from the circ desk, he made for the non-fiction shelving cart to lose himself among the stacks and avoid patron interactions for a few minutes.

He was in the 917s, putting away travel books returned by patrons who never seemed to actually go anywhere, when a voice behind him asked, "Could you point me to your section on bondage?"

Ahmed smiled, but didn't turn around. "Legal or sexual?"

"Sexual, _obviously_."

Once he'd finished straightening the row he was shelving, Ahmed folded his arms and smirked at Erik. "Didn't you just come from church? Shouldn't you be a little more...holy or something?"

"I think it's pretty obvious I want to read all about holes," his friend grinned back at him, leaning against the shelf and removing a book at random. "iAruba on a Budget/i? Isn't the whole point of going to Aruba that it's the white trash vacation dreamland? All the white sand beaches and high-rise hotels you want without spending all your American money on monkey meat and underage prostitutes?"

"That's in the wrong spot," Ahmed said, plucking the book out of Erik's hands and reshelving it correctly. "How was the funeral?"

"It was a wedding and it was awful, like all weddings. The bridal party was forty minutes late and the best man was drunk - which was actually awesome because he tipped me a fifty, but he dropped the rings and fell asleep during the homily."

"Nice. You realize I'm working for another three hours and you can't actually spend all of it bothering me?"

"Oh, I definitely _can_, I just _shouldn't._ And I won't, I need to edit the parody vid for the website." Erik turned and displayed his laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

"I thought Slade was doing the parody vid," Ahmed asked.

Erik sighed, "He _was_, but the technical shitshow that is this production is finally getting to him. He sent me an S.O.S. I feel bad for him, you can feel the desperation." He took his phone out of his pocket and showed Ahmed his most recent exchange of words with their taciturn SM.

**Can you edit the vid if I send you the raw footage? Been busy.**

Ahmed raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. "Dude. He is desperate. Told him we should've just done a Harlem Shake."

"Yup," Erik confirmed, putting his phone away. "Luckily, I'm a giving soul and I have time to kill. Also Harlem Shakes are ridiculously overplayed." They did a recording on the fly of various cast members singing along to "I Dreamed a Show" from _Forbidden Broadway_ (Vol. 2) and Erik was supposed to cut the footage together and create something vaguely amusing for the website and Facebook page, to be linked to on their Twitter account so people of the internet could create gifsets for Tumblr. Tim had gotten some 'running a non-profit in the 21st century' book from the library and decided they needed more social media exposure.

"Ahmed, I'm getting some coffee, I need you at the desk," Lou said, studiously ignoring Erik who loomed in front of him. It wasn't that he didn't see him, nor was it that he didn't know him. Erik had been coming to the library since he was a wee Erik, Lou knew him well, but the kid usually began and ended all his interactions with him with innuendo and that wasn't something he was prepared to deal with before his fifth cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, Erik did not want to leave him a choice. "Why, ihello/i sir," he said, batting his eyelashes and striking a pose against the first shelf of biographies. "Could you tell me where your books on bondage are?"

"All our copies of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ are out," Lou replied, rolling his eyes. "I figure _Twilight_'s more your speed anyway."

The mention of the hit vampire romance series made Erik drop his Jessica Rabbit schtick and make a face. "Ergh, I don't do _Twilight_. I don't even associate with people who read _Twilight_."

"I'm pretty sure Christine reads _Twilight_," Ahmed informed him.

Erik frowned and whipped out his phone. **Twilight?** he texted. And Christine Daee, who averaged between four hours and two days to respond to any given text message immediately lit up his screen with:

**Team Jacob!**

Groaning, Erik put his phone in his pocket and shook his head. "Okay. I associate with _one_ person who reads _Twilight_. One. And - "

"Don't care," Lou shook his head. "Coffee."

Erik sighed and decided he might as well get to work since Ahmed had a job to do and couldn't be counted on to entertain him. Two hours later, he managed to cobble something semi-decent together. **Done, **he texted back to Slade. **You want to upload it?**

**Sure. Send me the file. Thanks.**

Taking that to mean the SM was eternally grateful and owed him a life-debt, Erik emailed the video to him, then cast his eyes around for something to do until Ahmed's shift was over. His best buddy didn't know it yet, but he was Erik's ride to the theatre that night. A tattered paperback copy of _A Game of Thrones_ caught his eye and though he'd already read each of the books in the series multiple times, he was never averse to immersing himself in the drama that was Westeros. It was always nice to read about people whose lives were more stressful than his.

His feet were up on the desk he'd been working at and his chair was tilted as far back as it could go to accommodate the length of his legs when someone swatted him on the back of the head with what felt like a rolled up newspaper. "Hey!" he cried indignantly, almost falling off his chair.

It was Lou, holding a fistful of fliers and frowning at him. "Those chairs are older than you and, thanks to budget cuts, they need to stay here after you're dead. Sit like a human, please."

With a look of deepest resignation on his face, Erik put his feet back on the ground and sat up in his chair, tilting his head back when Lou shoved one of the fliers in his face. "I've told you a million times, I can't give blood," he said, refusing to take it.

Sighing, as though he was being deliberately thick, the library director said, "It's not for a blood drive, it's for a concert. Two weeks from Sunday, I thought you'd be interested if you guys aren't in rehearsal. I'm trying to be _nice_."

Erik's look melted into one of gooey sentimentality. "Oh, _Louis_," he cooed. "You _do _care." But all the color drained from his face when he saw the name at the top of the bill.

Alexander Vilardi. Plain as daylight and twice as cruel.

"What the _fuck_?" Erik swore, not bothering to keep his voice down and earning another swat from Lou.

"You're in a library! Watch your goddamn language!"

Hearing the raised voices and the swearing, Ahmed jogged over to them, brows furrowed in concerned. "I'm going on break," he informed his boss.

Erik stood up, not taking his eyes from the paper in his hands, "Me too."

"You don't even _work_ here!"

"Then I guess I don't need your permission," Erik replied moodily, unplugging his laptop and shoving it into his bag roughly, the flier going in along with it. With long strides, he went downstairs to the staff room, Ahmed hot on his heels. Without a word of explanation, he removed the slightly crumpled flier and shoved it in his friend's face.

Ahmed dropped it as if the paper was on fire. "What the _fuck?_" he asked.

"That's what I said," Erik growled. "What is he even _doing_ here? Shouldn't he be back in New Fucking York? No way he'd drive six hours down here for a free concert at a library. How long is his fucking spring break?"

"Maybe he got kicked out," Ahmed speculated. "Maybe they realized he sucked and they threw him out on his ass and he's come back here to try and fuck you up out of some twisted idea of revenge. Which isn't going to happen, by the way." His expression became very firm as he urgently said, "You are _not_ allowed to let him fuck you up. Not allowed. Not this close to showtime and..." _Not when you've been doing so well_. "...it's just not allowed."

Rubbing his eyes as though suddenly tired, Erik mumbled, "I'll do my best. But at least tell me you agree this is a total mindfuck."

"It's the mind-fuckiest, but you need to...ignore it. We've got press night that night anyway, previews, we can't even be here, we'll be twenty minutes away fighting the man while he's playing Verdi or some shit." Ahmed exhaled and shook his head, "I thought you told him to fuck off. I thought you said it was epic."

"It was epic!" Erik lamented. "He was going to buy me coffee and I was all, 'Fuck you, I don't want to owe you anything.' It was perfect! Like a freaking John Hughes movie and I was the artistic poor girl and he was the rich bad boy I'd given my v-card to and regretted it, but that didn't make me a slut, it was a growing experience and I was going to college and could start fresh."

That sounded less like a movie plot and more like Erik's actual life, but Ahmed decided to avoid the psychoanalysis and changed the subject. "How'd the video go?"

"Good, Slade should be posting it tonight."

"Good," Ahmed said. Then, as if to reassure himself, he added, "Good. We're good. Agreed?"

Erik looked down at the poster before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into a wastepaper basket. "Agreed," he said with more conviction than he felt.


End file.
